The Pteam and the Chamber of Secrets
by KibaLover2211
Summary: All right, the squeal to my vision of the Harry Potter book series. More adventures with Harry Potter and his best friend, Cheyenne Power. How will things go for these two during their second year at Hogwarts? Please come in and read more about the P-team as they return to Hogwarts and have more adventures with their friends.
1. The Worst Birthday

**AN: Hello everyone. So, I've finished the first book and am posting the second now. I'd like to thank those who've been reading my story and following it so far. I'm really grateful to all of you. And I apologize if I do not put many author notes as I'm more of the story writer, but I still am grateful to those who've been following the story so far and I hope you will continue to do so. Anyway, I own none of the Harry Potter plot or original characters already in the story. They all belong to J. K. Rowling and the Scholastic Press. Enjoy.**

**Chapter One**

**The Worst Birthday**

"It's the **third** time this week!" The yell rang out over the breakfast table at number four, Privet Drive. Vernon Dursley had been awakened during the early morning hours by some loud hooting noises that had come from his nephew Harry and niece, Cheyenne, myself's, room. Harry and Uncle Vernon were arguing, not for the first time, over the noises made by our pets. "If neither of you can control those owls, they'll have to go!"

Harry and I looked at one another as he tried, yet again, to explain the situation.

"They're _bored_." He said. "They're used to flying around outside. If we could **just** let them out at night -"

"Do I look stupid?" Uncle Vernon snarled, a few specks of fried eggs dangling from his bushy mustache. "I know what'll happen if those owls're let out."

He exchanged dark looks with our aunt, and his wife, Petunia.

Harry and I opened our mouths to try and argue back but our words were drowned by a long, loud belch from the Dursleys' son, our cousin, Dudley.

"I want more bacon."

"There's more in the frying pan, sweetums," Aunt Petunia said, turning misty eyes on her massive son. "We must build you up while we've got the chance. . . .I don't like the sound of that school food. . . ."

"Nonsense, Petunia, I never went hungry when **I** was at Smeltings," Uncle Vernon said heartily. "Dudley gets enough, don't you, son?"

Dudley, who was so large his bottom drooped over either side of the kitchen chair, grinned and turned to us.

"Pass the frying pan."

"You've forgotten the magic word," Harry said irritably as I rubbed his back soothingly.

The effect of this simple sentence on the rest of our family was incredible: Dudley gasped and fell off his chair with a crash that shook the whole kitchen; Aunt Petunia gave a small scream and clapped her hands to her mouth; Uncle Vernon leapt to his feet, veins throbbing in his temples.

"He meant 'please'!" I said, jumping to my own feet as I put my hands up. Harry looked up fearfully. "Harry didn't mean -"

"YOU STAY OUT OF THIS!" he thundered, his hand flinging out and hitting me, hard, in the face. My head snapped sharply to the side just a second before my knees buckled and I crumpled to the floor. He rounded on Harry. "WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU TWO," our uncle sprayed spit over the table as he yelled, "ABOUT SAYING THE 'M' WORD IN OUR HOUSE?"

"But I -"

"HOW DARE **YOU** THREATEN DUDLEY!" Uncle Vernon roared, pounding the table with his fist as I used Harry's chair to help me up.

"I just -"

"I WARNED YOU BOTH! I WILL **NOT** TOLERATE MENTION OF EITHER YOUR ABNORMALITIES UNDER THIS ROOF!"

Harry and I, cradling my cheek as I cowered behind the table, stared from Uncle Vernon's purple face to our pale aunt, who was trying to heave Dudley to his feet.

"All right," Harry said finally. "**all right. . .**"

Uncle Vernon sat back down, breathing like a winded rhinoceros and watching Harry and I closely out of the corner of his small, sharp eyes. Harry helped me back into my chair, asking if I was all right. I quickly reassured him I was fine although pain radiated through my struck cheek. I quickly wiped the tears out of my eyes when he wasn't looking, gave a small sniffle, then sighed softly.

Ever since Harry and I had come home for the summer holidays, Uncle Vernon had been treating us like bombs that might go off at any moment, because neither Harry Potter, nor I, Cheyenne Power, w_ere_ normal kids. As a matter of face, we were as unnormal as it is possible to be.

Harry Potter and I were a witch and a wizard - a witch and a wizard fresh from our first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And if the Dursleys were unhappy to have us back for the holidays, it was nothing to how we both felt.

We both missed Hogwarts so much it was like having constant stomachaches. We missed the castle, with its secret passageways and ghosts, our classes (although, perhaps not Snape's, the Potions master), the mail arriving by owl, eating banquets in the Great Hall, sleeping in our four-poster beds in the tower dormitories, visiting the gamekeeper, Hagrid, in his cabin next to the Forbidden Forest in the grounds, and, especially, Quidditch, the most popular sport in the wizarding world (six tall goal posts, four flying balls, and fourteen to sixteen players on broomsticks).

All of my and Harry's spellbooks, our wands, robes, cauldrons, and top-of-the-line Nimbus Two Thousand broomsticks had been locked in the cupboard under the stairs by Uncle Vernon the second Harry and I had come home. What did the Dursleys care if we lost our places on the House Quidditch team because we hadn't practiced all summer? What was it to the Dursleys if we went back to school without any of our homework done? The Dursleys were what we wizarding folk called Muggles (not a drop of magical blood in their veins), and as far as they were concerned, having a witch and a wizard in the family was a matter of deepest shame. Uncle Vernon had even padlocked our owls, Hedwig and Elon, inside their cages, to stop them from carrying messages to anyone in the wizarding world.

I wasn't blood related to the Dursleys, or Harry for that matter, since my mother had only been adopted into Lilly's, Harry's mother, family and our fathers had been childhood friends since they were babies, just like Harry and I are right now. Neither Harry nor I looked anything like the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon was large and neckless, with an enormous black mustache; Aunt Petunia was horse-faced and really bony; Dudley was blond, pink, and porky. (It was a wonder Aunt Petunia survived giving _birth_ to Dudley, with how big he was.) Harry, though, was small and skinny, with brilliant green eyes and jet-black hair that was always untidy. I was a little bigger, but was still skinny like him with hazel brown eyes and curled/wavy dark brown hair. We both wore glasses, his round thin wire while mine were slightly retangular and white. On both our foreheads were thin, lightning shaped scars.

It was these scars that made Harry and I so particularly unusual, even for a witch and wizard. These scars were the only hint of my and Harry's very mysterious past, of the reason we'd been left on the Dursley's doorstep eleven years before.

At only the age of one years old, Harry and I had somehow survived a curse from the greatest Dark sorcerer of all time, Lord Voldemort, whose name most witches and wizards sitll feared to speak. Both my and Harry's parents had died in Voldemort's attack, but the two of us had escaped with our lightning scars, and somehow - with nobody understanding why Voldemort's powers had been destroyed the instant he had failed to kill us.

So Harry and I had been brought up by Harry's dead mother's sister and her husband. W'e'd both spent ten years with the Dursleys, neither of us even understanding why we kept making odd things happen without meaning to, believing the Dursleys' story that we'd gotten our scars in the car accident that had killed our parents.

But then, exactly one year ago, Hogwarts had written to the two of us, and the whole story had come out. We'd both taken up our places in wizard's school, where we and our scars were famous. . .but now the school year was over, and we were back with the Dursleys for the summer, back to being treated like a couple of dogs that had both rolled in something smelly.

The Dursleys hadn't even remembered that today happened to be Harry's twelifth birthday. Of course, I remembered as, since before we'd gone to Hogwarts, Harry and I had been the only ones to remember each other's birthdays. The most I could do for Harry was craft a homemade card and scrape together some pocket change found in the couch and anywhere else I could find, and I was able to buy a single cupcake. Naturally, Harry's hopes hadn't been too high when it came to the Dursleys; they'd never given either of us a real present, let alone a cake - but to ignore our birthdays completely. . .

At that moment, Uncle Vernon cleared his throat importantly and said, "Now, as we all know, today is a very important day."

Harry had looked up, a small gleam of hope in his eyes. I took a bite of my toast, knowing Uncle Vernon was talking about his stupid dinner party.

"This could **well** be the day I make the biggest deal of my career." Uncle Vernon continued. Oh, here we go.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harry drop his gaze instantly to his plate. I knew he was thinking how idiotic this dinner party was. I reached over and gently rubbed his back in an effort to sooth him. Uncle Vernon had been talking of nothing else for two weeks. Some rich builder and his wife were coming to dinner and Uncle Vernon was hoping to get a large order from him (his company made drills.)

"I think we should run through the schedule one more time," Uncle Vernon said. "We should all be in position at eight o' clock. Petunia, you will be -?"

"In the lounge," Aunt Petunia said promptly, "Waiting to welcome them graciously to our home."

"Good, good. And Dudley?"

"I'll be waiting to open the door," Dudley put on a foul, simpering smile. "May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"

"They'll _love_ him!" Aunt Petunia said rapturously. I rolled my eyes some.

"Excellent, Dudley," Uncle Vernon said. Then he rounded on Harry and I. "And _you_ two?"

"We'll be in our bedroom, making no noise and pretending we're not there," Harry and I said tonelessly.

"Exactly," Uncle Vernon said nastily. "I will lead them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them drinks. At eight-fifteen -"

"I'll announce dinner," Aunt Petunia said.

"And, Dudley, you'll say -"

"May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs. Mason?" Dudley said, offering his fat arm to an invisible woman.

"My perfect little gentleman!" Aunt Petunia sniffed.

"And _you_ two?" Uncle Vernon said viciously to Harry and I.

"We'll be in our room, making **no** noise and pretending we're not there," Harry and I said dully.

"Precisely. Now, we should aim to get in a few good compliments at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?"

"Vernon tells me you're an _excellent_ golfer, Mr. Mason. . . ._Do_ tell me where you bought your dress. Mrs. Mason. . . ."

"Perfect. . .Dudley?"

"How about - 'We had to write an essay about our hero in school, Mr. Mason, and **I** wrote about **you**.' "

This was too much for both Aunt Petunia and Harry. While Aunt Petunia burst into tears and hugged her son, Harry ducked under the table so the Dursleys wouldn't see him laughing. I was fighting hard not to lose my breakfast.

"And you two?"

I helped Harry up as he tried to keep a straight face.

"We'll be in our room, making no noise and pretending we're not there," we said.

"Too right, you will," Uncle Vernon said forcefully. "The Mason's don't know _anything_ about either of you and it's **going** to stay that way. When dinner's over, you take Mrs. Mason back to the lounge for coffee, Petunia, and I'll bring the conversation around to drills. With any luck, I'll have the deal signed and sealed before the news at ten. We'll be shopping for a vacation home in Majorca this time tomorrow."

Harry and I glanced at each other, neither of us feeling really excited about this. We didn't think the Dursleys would like us any better in Majorca than they did on Privet Drive.

"Right - I'm off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for Dudley and me. And **you** two," he snarled at Harry and I. "You stay out of your aunt's way while she's cleaning."

Harry and I left through the back door. It was a brilliant, sunny day. We crossed the lawn together, slumping down on the garden bench, relaxing back into the warm wood. I pulled the homemade card from my pocket, handing it to Harry.

The card was made of royal blue consruction paper with silver and gold glitter that read out _Happy Birthday Harry_ on the cover. Inside were some drawings of Magical Creatures we'd learned about, along with rough drawings of our Hogwarts friends. Harry smiled softly, whispering a quiet 'thank you' as I hugged him gently. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and kissed my head. I sang softly under my breath:

"Happy birthday to you. . .happy birthday dear Harry. . . ."

One card I made myself, a single cupcake and a few scrapes I could steal from the table was the best I could do for my best friend. I felt horrible enough, and it only made me feel worse that both Harry and I had to spend the evening pretending not to exist. We both stared into the hedge. I could tell Harry was miserable, and I just felt even worse. Although we had each other, we'd never felt so alone. More than anything else at Hogwarts, more even than playing Quidditch, Harry and I missed our best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They, however, didn't seem to be missing us at all. Neither of them had writtent to us all summer, even though Ron had said he was going to ask both Harry and I to come and stay.

Countless times, we'd both been on the point of unlocking Hedwig and Elon's cages by magic and sending each of them to Ron and Hermione with a letter, but it wasn't worth the risk. Underage wizards weren't allowed to use magic outside of school. Neither of us had told the Dursleys this; we knew it was only their terror that we might turn them all into dung beetles that stopped them from locking _us_ in the cupboard under the stairs with our wands and broomsticks. For the first couple of weeks back, both Harry and I had enjoyed muttering nonsense words under our breaths and watching Dudley tearing out of the room as fast as his fat legs would carry him. Although, Harry seemed to enjoy it more than I. However, the long silence from Ron and Hermione had made the two of us feel so cut off from the magical world that even taunting Dudley had lost it's appeal - and now, it seemed, Ron and Hermione had forgotten Harry's birthday.

What wouldn't we give now for a message from Hogwarts? From any witch or wizard? We'd almost be glad of a sight of our archenemy, Draco Malfoy, just to be sure it hadn't all been a dream. . . .

Not that our whole year at Hogwarts had been fun. At the very end of last term, Harry and I had come face-to-face with none other than Lord Voldemort himself. Voldemort might be a ruin of his former self, but he was still terrifying, still cunning, still determined to regain power. We'd both slipped through Voldemort's clutches for a second time, but it had been a narrow escape, and, even now, weeks later, Harry and I both kept waking in the night, both of us drenched in a cold sweat, wondering where Voldemort was now, remembering his livid face, his wide, made eyes -

I suddenly felt Harry sit bolt upright on the bench. I jumped, thinking I hurt him. He'd been staring absentmindedly into the hedge, which I quickly fixed my gaze on as well - **the hedge was staring back at us!** Two enormous green eyes had appeared among the leaves.

Harry jumped quickly to his feet, me still just staring at the bush, jus as a jeering voice floated across the lawn.

"I know what day it is!" Dudley sang, waddling toward us.

The huge eyes blinked and vanished.

"Wh-what?" Harry and I asked, neither of us taking our eyes off the spot where they had been.

"I know what day it is!" Dudley repeated, coming right up to us.

"Well done," Harry said. "So you've _finally_ learned the days of the week. " I stood quickly, ready to put myself between the two to break-up any fights. I didn't want Harry getting into trouble for giving Dudley a black eye or bloody nose on Uncle Vernon _speical_ day.

"Today's **your birthday**, Potter," Dudley sneered. "How come you haven't gotten any _good_ cards?" he taunted, spotting the makeshift card I'd made for Harry. I felt my face burn in embarressment and I self-consiously lowered my gaze to the grass. "Haven't either of you even got friends at that freak place?"

"Better not let your mum hear you talking about our school," Harry said coolly as I raised my head some.

Dudley hitched up his trousers, which were slipping down his fat bottom.

"Why're you staring at the hedge?" He asked Harry suspiciously.

"I'm trying to decided what would be the best spell to set it on fire." Harry replied crisply. I touched his arm in warning, but he didn't seem to notice.

Dudley stumbled backward at once, a look of pure panic on his fat face.

"You c-can't - Dad told you both you're not to do m-magic - he said he'll chuck you two out of the house - and either of you have got anywhere else to go - neither of you have got any **friends** to take you -" That was Harry's last straw.

"**Jiggery pokery!**" Harry said fiercely before I could stop him. "**Hocus pocus - squiggly wiggly -**"

"MUUUUUUM!" Dudley howled, tripping over his feet as he dashed back toward the house. "MUUUUM! **He's** doing you know what!"

Harry had to pay dearly for his moment of fun. As neither the hedge nor Dudley were in any way harmed, Aunt Petunia knew he hadn't done real magic, but we both still had to duck as she aimed a heavy blow to one of our heads with the soapy frying pan. Then she gave him work to do, with the promise he wouldn't eat again until he'd finished. I was even told not to him him, but I was forced to help Aunt Petunia in the kitchen.

While Harry had to toil in the hot sunlight, I was hunched on the kitchen floor, scrubbing it until my fingers ached. Prince Dudley, however, got to be the spoiled brat he was, just lolling around watching us and eating ice cream. I felt even worse that Harry had to be treated like this on his birthday! If only he hadn't risen to Dudley's bait, but Dudley **had** said the very thing both Harry and I had been thinking ourselves. . .maybe we **didn't** have any friends at Hogwarts. . . .

At half past seven in the evening, Aunt Petunia told me I was finished and called Harry inside. I sat at the table, where my half of our pitiful supper sat, which consisted of a simple lump of cheese and two slices of bread. When Aunt Petunia turned to pay attention to Harry, I quickly slipped my cheese and bread into my napkin. I would give it to Harry, along with the cupcake, hoping that would at least be enough. He had to be hungrier than I was. Harry came inside, soaked in sweat and looking miserable. I looked around the kitchen, my chest tightening at the look of misery in my best friends eyes.

The kitchen was gleaming. On top of the fridge stood tonight's pudding: a huge mound of whipped cream and sugared violets. A lion of roast pork was sizzling in the oven. Aunt Petunia was already wearing a salmon-pink cocktail dress.

Once Harry had washed his hands and bolted down his own pitiful supper, Aunt Petunia whisked our plates away. "Upstairs! Hurry!"

As we passed the door to the living room, Harry and I caught a glimpse of Uncle Vernon and Dudley in bowties and dinner jackets. We had only just reached the upstairs landing when the doorbell rang and Uncle Vernon's furious face appeared at the foot of the stairs.

"Remember, you two, one sound -"

We crossed to our bedroom on tiptoe, slipped inside, closed the door, and turned to collapse on our beds.

Only problem for Harry was, there was already someone sitting on his!


	2. Dobby's Warning

**Chapter Two**

**Dobby's Warning**

I quickly managed to clap a hand to Harry's mouth to prevent him from shouting, but just barely. The little creature on his bed had large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls. This must be the thing Harry had seen in the garden hedge this morning.

As we stared at one another, Harry and I heard Dudley's voice from the hall.

"May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"

The creature slipped off his bed and bowed so low that the end of its' long, thin nose touched the carpet. Harry and I noticed that it was wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm-and-leg holes.

"Er - hello," Harry said nervously as I gave a nervous smile.

"Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power!" the creature said in a high pitched voice Harry and I were sure would carry down the stairs. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir and miss. . .Such an honor it is. . . ."

"Th-thank you," Harry and I said. He edged along the wall and sank into his desk chair while I nervously perched myself on the edge of my bed. Hedwig was next to Harry on the desk, both her and Elon asleep in their large cages. We glanced at each other, wanting to ask "What are you?" but thought it would sound too rude, so instead we said, "Who are you?"

"Dobby, sir and miss. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf." The creatures said.

"Oh - really?" Harry said as I tilted my head, trying to remember if I'd read about house-elves before. "Er - we don't want to be rude, or anything, but - this isn't a great time for us to have a house-elf in our bedroom."

Aunt Petunia's high, false laugh sounded from the living room. The elf hung his head.

"Not that we're not please to meet you," We said quickly, "but, uh, is there any particular reason you're here?"

"Oh, yes, sir and miss," Dobby said earnestly. "Dobby has come to tell you both. . .it is difficult, sir and miss. . . Dobby wonders where to begin. . . ."

"Sit down," Harry said politely, pointing to the bed.

To our horror, the elf burst into tears - very, **very** noisy tears

"**S-sit down!**" he wailed. "**Never**. . .**never ever**. . ."

Harry and I thought we heard the voices downstairs falter.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, "I didn't mean to offend you or anything -"

"Offend Dobby!" the elf choked. "Dobby has **never** been asked to sit down by a wizard, or a witch - like an **equal** -"

Harry tried to say, "Shh!" and look comforting at the same time. I got up and ushered Dobby back onto Harry's bed, where he sat, hiccupping, and looking like a large and very ugly doll. At last, he managed to control himself, and sat with his great eyes fixed on the two of us in an expression of watery adoration.

"You can't have met many decent witches and wizards, " Harry said in an effort to cheer the elf up. I gave a small, reassuring smile.

Dobby shook his head. Then, without warning, he leapt up and started banging his head furiously on the window, shouting, "**Bad** Dobby! **Bad** Dobby!"

"Don't - what are you doing?" Harry hissed, both of us springing up and pulling Dobby back onto the bed - Hedwig and Elon had woken up with a couple of loud screeches and both were beating their wings wildly against the bars of both their cages.

"Dobby _had_ to punish himself, sir and miss," the elf said, who had gone slightly cross-eyed. "Dobby _almost_ spoke ill of his family. . . ."

"Your family?"

"The wizard family Dobby serves, sir. . . .Dobby is a house-elf - bound to serve one house and one family forever. . . ."

"Do they know you're here?" Harry and I asked curiously.

Dobby shuddered.

"Oh, no, sir. . .miss, no. . .Dobby will have to punish himself most grievoulsy for coming to see you, sir and miss. Dobby with have to shut his ears in the oven door for this. If they _ever_ knew -"

"Hang on, won't they notice if you shut your ears in the oven door?" Harry asked as I inwardly cringed at the thought.

"Dobby doubts it, sir. Dobby is **always** having to punish himself for something, sir. They lets Dobby get on with it, sir. Sometimes they reminds me to do extra punishments. . . ."

"But why don't you leave? Escape?" I asked this time.

"A house-elf _must_ be set free, miss. And the family will **never** set Dobby free. . .Dobby will serve the family until he dies, miss. . . ."

We just stared.

"And we thought we had it bad staying here for another four weeks," Harry said as I gave Dobby an empathtic look. "This makes the Dursleys sound _almost_ human. Can't anyone help you? Can't we?"

Almost at once, we both wished he hadn't spoken. Dobby dissolved again into wails of gradtitude.

"Please," Harry and I whispered frantically. "please be quiet. If the Dursleys hear anything, if they know you're here -"

"Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power ask if they can help Dobby. . .Dobby had heard of your greatness, sir and miss, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew. . . ."

Both Harry and I, feeling totally embarrassed, said, "Whatever you've heard about our greatness is a load of rubbish," We said together before Harry pointed to himself, then me. "**I'm** not even top of our year at Hogwarts; that's Cheyenne and Hermione, they're -" "Wait, she had better marks th-!"

We both stopped quickly because thinking about Hermione was quite painful.

"Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power are both humble and modest," Dobby said reverently, his orb-like eyes aglow. "Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power speak _not_ of their triumph over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named -"

"Voldemort?" Harry and I asked.

Dobby clapped his hands over his bat ears and moaned, "Ah, speak not the name, sir and miss! Speak not the name!"

"Sorry," We said quickly. "We know lots of people don't like to. Our friend, Ron -"

We stopped again. Thinking about Ron was painful, too.

Dobby leaned toward us, his eyes wide as headlights.

"Dobby heard tell," he said hoarsely. "that Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power met the Dark Lord for a second time, just weeks ago. . .that Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power escaped _yet again_."

Harry and I nodded and Dobby's eyes suddenly shone with tears.

"Ah, sir and miss," he gasped, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby pillowcase he was wearing, "Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power are valiant and bold! They have braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power, to _warn_ them, even if he **does** have to shut his ears in the oven door later. . . .Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power must not go back to Hogwarts."

There was a long stretch of silence between the three of us then. The silence was only broken by the chink of knives and forks from downstairs and the distant rumbled of Uncle Vernon's voice.

"W-what?" We stammered together. "But we've _got_ to go back - term starts on September first. It's all that's keeping us going. You don't know what it's like here. We don't **belong** here. We belong in your world - at Hogwarts."

"No, no, no," Dobby squeaked, shaking his head so hard his ears flapped. "Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power _must_ stay where they are safe. They are too great, too good, to lose. If Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power go back to Hogwarts, they will be in mortal danger.

"Why?" Harry and I asked in surprise.

"There is a plot, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year." Dobby whispered, suddenly trembling all over. "Dobby has known it for months, sir and miss. Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power must not put themselves in peril. They are too important, sir and miss!"

"What terrible things?" Harry asked at once as I just stared, feeling the color drain from my face. "Who's plotting them?"

Dobby made a funny choking noise and then banged his head frantically against the wall.

"All right!" Harry cried, grabbing the elf's arm to stop him. "You can't tell us. We understand. But why are you warning us?" A sudden, unpleasant thought struck us both as Harry stole a glance at me before returning his attention on Dobby. "Hang on - this hasn't got anything to do with Vol - sorry - with You-Know-Who, has it? You could just shake or nod," he added hastily as Dobby's head tilted worryingly close to the wall again.

Slowly, Dobby shook his head.

"Not - not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, sir -"

However, Dobby's eyes were wide and he seemed to be trying to give Harry and I a hint. But both he and I were completely lost.

"He hasn't got a brother, has he?"

Dobby shook his head, his eyes wider than ever.

"Well then, neither of us can think who else would have a chance of making horrible things happen at Hogwarts," Harry said as I curled my legs under my body and stared out our window in thought, blocking out the rest of the conversation until I heard Dobby's ear-splitting yelps, which caused me to jump and whirl around in time to hear Uncle Vernon coming into the hall, calling, "Dudley must have left his television on again, the little tyke!"

"Quick! In the closet!" Harry hissed, stuffing Dobby inside, shutting the door and flinging himself onto his bed just as the door handle turned.

"What - the - **devil** - are - you - two - doing?" Uncle Vernon gritted through his teeth, baring down menancingly on the two of us. "You've both just ruined the punch line of my Japanese golfer joke. . . . One more sound and you'll both wish you'd never been born!"

He stomped flat-footed from the room.

I sank back into my pillow as Harry, still visibly shaking, let Dobby out of the closet.

"See what it's like here?" he said to the elf. "See why we've got to go back to Hogwarts? It's the _only_ place we've go - well, we **think** we've got friends."

"Friends who don't even **write **to Harry Potter or Cheyenne Power?" Dobby said slyly. I sat bolt upright at that, staring intently at the elf as I swung my legs over the side of my bed.

"We expect they've just been - wait a minute," Harry paused, frowning, as he guessed what I did seconds ago. "How do you know our friends haven't been writing to us?"

Dobby shuffled his feet.

"Neither Harry Potter or Cheyenne Power must be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for the best."

**"Have you been stopping our letters?"**

"Dobby has them here, sir and miss," he said. He stepped nimbly out of both our reaches before pulling a thick wad of envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase he wore. Harry and I could make out Hermione's neat handwriting, Ron's untidy scrawl, and even a scribble that looked as though it was from the Hogwart's gamekeeper, Hagrid.

Dobby blinked anxiously up at us.

"Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power mustn't be angry. . . .Dobby hoped. . .if Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power thought their friends had forgotten them. . .Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power might not want to go back to school, sir and miss. . . ."

Neither Harry nor I were listening. Harry made a grab for the letters, causing Dobby to jump back, a little closer to me. I lunged, but he evaded my attack too.

"Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power will have them, if they give Dobby their word that they will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir and miss, this is a danger neither of you must face! Say you won't go back!"

"No," Harry and I said angrily. "Give us our friends' letters!"

"Then Harry Potter and Cheyenne Potter leave Dobby no choice," the elf said sadly.

Before either of us could move, Dobby had darted to our bedroom door, pulled it open, and sprinted down the stairs.

Glancing at each other with dry mouths and lurching stomachs, Harry and I sprang after the elf, trying our hardest not to make a sound. We jumped the last six steps, landing catlike on the hall carpet, looking around for Dobby. We could hear Uncle Vernon talking in the dining room, but I didn't stop to hear the words as I bolted up the hall and into the kitchen. Harry was right on my tail. My heart almost stopped.

Aunt Petunia's masterpiece of pudding, the mountain of cream and sugared violets, was floating up near the ceiling. Dobby was perched in a corner on top of a cabinet.

"No," Harry and I croaked. "Please. . .they'll kill us. . . ."

"Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power _must_ say they're not going back to school -"

"Dobby. . .please. . ."

"Say it, sir and miss -"

"We can't -"

Dobby gave us a tragic look.

"Then Dobby _must_ do it, sir and miss, for Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power's own good."

The pudding fell to the floor with a heart-stopping crash. Harry pushed me back, sheilding me as cream splattered the windows and walls as the dish shattered. With a crack like a whip, Dobby disappeared.

There were screams from the dining room and Uncle Vernon burst into the kitchen to find Harry and I, rigid with shock, both of us covered from head to foot in Aunt Petunia's pudding.

At first, it looked as though Uncle Vernon would manage to gloss the whole thing over. ("Just our niece and nephew - very disturbed - meeting strangers upsets them, so we kept them upstairs. . . .") He shooed the shocked Masons back into the dining room, promising Harry and I he would flay us to within an inch of our lifes when the Masons had left and handed both of us a mop. Aunt Petunia dug some ice cream out of the freezer and Harry and I, both of us still shaking, started scrubbing the kitchen clean.

Uncle Vernon might've still been able to make his deal - if it hadn't been for the owl.

Aunt Petunia was just passing around a box of after-dinner mints when a huge barn owl swooped through the dining room window, dropped a letter on Mrs. Mason's head, and swooped out again. Mrs. Mason screamed like a banshee and ran from the house shouting about lunatics. Mr. Mason stayed just long enough to tell the Dursleys that his wife was mortally afraid of birds of all shapes and sizes, and to ask whether this was their idea of a joke.

Harry and I stood in the kitchen, clutching our mops for support, as Uncle Vernon advanced on us, a demonic glint in his tiny eyes.

"Read it!" he hissed evilly, brandishing the letter the owl had delivered. "Go on - read it!"

Harry took the letter. It didn't contain any sort of birthday greetings.

**Dear Mr. Potter and Miss Power,**

**We have received intelligance that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine. As you know, underage wizards and witches are ****not**** permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on either of your parts may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).**

**We would also ask you both to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.**

**Enjoy your holidays!**

**Yours sincerely,**

**Mafalda Hopkirk**

**Mafalda Hopkirk**

**Improper use of Magic Office**

**Ministry of Magic**

Harry and I looked up from the letter and gulped together.

"You didn't tell us you two weren't allowed to use magic outside school," Uncle Vernon said, a mad gleam dancing in his eyes. "Forgot to mention it. . . .Slipped both your minds, I daresay. . . ."

He was bearing down on the both of us like a great bulldog, all his teeth bared. I cowered behind Harry, who reached back and wrapped a protective arm around me. "Well, I've got news for you two. . . .I'm locking you both up. . . .Neither of you is ever going back to that school. . .ever. . .and if you try and magic yourselves out - they'll expel you both!"

And laughing like a madman, he dragged Harry and I back upstairs.

Uncle Vernon was as bad as his word. The following morning, he paid a man to fit bars on our window. He, himself, fitted a cat-flap in our bedroom door, so small amounts of food could be pushed inside tree times a day. They let Harry and I out to use the bathroom morning and evening. Otherwise, we were locked in our room around the clock.

Three days later, the Dursleys were showing no sign of relenting, and neither Harry nor I could see any way out of our situation. We lay on our beds watching the sun sinking behind the bars on the window and milling over, miserably, what was going to happen to us.

What was the good of magiciking ourselves out of our room if Hogwarts would expel us for doing it? Yet life at Privet Drive had reached an all-time low. Now that the Dursleys knew they weren't going to wake up as fruit bats, we had lost our only weapon. Dobby might have saved us from horrible happenings at Hogwarts, but the way things were going, we'd both probably starve to death anyway.

The cat-flap rattled and Aunt Petunia's hand appeared, pushing a couple of bowls of canned soup into our room. Harry and I, our insides aching with hunger, jumped off our beds and seized them. the soup was stone-cold, but we each drank half of it in one gulp. Then we crossed the room together to Hedwig and Elon's cages, and tipped the soggy vegetables at the bottom of our bowls into their empty food trays. Elon instantly hopped over and began to eat. I swear, he could and would eat **anything**.

I smiled at him and set my bowl back on the floor next to the cat-flap. I sat back on my bed, my back against the wall. I watched Harry lay down on his bed and fall asleep. I sighed and turned to stare thoughtfully out the window.

I thought about what would happen in four weeks, providing Harry and I would still be alive, if we didn't turn up at Hogwarts. Would someone be sent to see why we hadn't come back? Would they be able to make the Dursleys let us go?

The room was growing steadily darker. I covered my mouth as I yawned, rubbing sleepily at my eyes. My stomach rumbled loudly and I groaned to myself, closing my eyes in order to rest them for a moment. Before I knew it, I'd fallen asleep.

I soon found myself sharing a dream with Harry. We were dreaming that we were on show in a zoo, with a card reading **Underage Witch and Wizard** attached to our cage. People goggled through the bars at us as we lay, starving and weak, on a narrow bed of straw. We saw Dobby's face in the crowd and Harry shouted out, asking for help, but Dobby called, "Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power is safe there, sir and miss!" and vanished. Then the Dursleys appeared and Dudley rattled the bars of the cage, laughing at us. Harry rolled over and I buried my face in his chest, covering my ears to block out the sounds.

"Stop it," We muttered as the rattled pounded in our sore heads. "Leave us alone. . .cut it out. . .We're trying to sleep. . . ."

I jerked awake, blinking rapidly. Moonlight was shining through the bars on our window. And someone _was_ goggling through the bars at us: a freckle-faced, red-haired, long-nosed someone.

Ron Weasley was outside our window!


	3. The Burrow

**Chapter Three**

**The Burrow**

"Ron!" Harry and I breathed, both of us creeping to the window and pushing it up so we could talk through the bars. "Ron, how did you - What the -?"

Our mouths fell open as the full impact of what we were seeing hit us. Ron was leaning out of the back window of an old turquoise car, which was parked in **midair**. Grinning at us from the front seats were Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers.

"All right, Harry, Cheyenne?" George asked.

"What's been going on?" Ron said. "Why haven't you been answering my letters? I've asked you both to stay about twelves times, and then Dad came home and said you'd both got an offical warning for using magic in front of Muggles -"

"It wasn't us - and how did he know?"

"He works for the Ministry," Ron said. "You both **know** we're not supposed to do spells outside school - what would Hermione say about that, I thought you weren't much of a rule break either, Cheyenne -"

"You should talk," Harry cut in as we stared at the floating car.

"Oh, this doesn't count," Ron said. "We're only borrowing this. It's Dad's, **we** didn't enchant it. But doing magic in front of those Muggles you two live with -"

"We told you, _we_ didn't - but it'll take too long to explain now - look, can you tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked us up and won't let us come back and obviously we can't magic ourselves out, because the Ministry'll think that's the second spell we've done in three days, so -"

"Stop gibbering," Ron said. "We've come to take you both home with us."

"But you can't magic us out either -"

"We don't need to," Ron said, jerking his head toward the front seat and grinning, "You both forgot who I've got with me."

"Tie that around the bars," Fred said, throwing the end of a rope to Harry.

"If the Dursleys wake up, we're dead," I said as I helped Harry tie the rope tightly around one of the bars and Fred revved up the car.

"Don't worry," Fred reassured. "and stand back."

Harry and I quickly moved back into the shadows next to Hedwig and Elon, both of whom seemed to have realized how important this was and kept still and silent. The car revved louder and louder and suddenly, with a loud crunching noise, the bars were pulled clean out of the window as Fred drove straight up in to the air. We ran back to the window to see the bars dangling a few feet above the ground. Panting, Ron hoisted them up into the car. We listened anxiously, but there was no sounds coming from the Dursleys' bedroom.

Once the bars were safely in the backseat with Ron, Fred reversed as close as possiblie to our window.

"Get in," Ron said.

"But all our Hogwarts stuff - our wands - our broomsticks -"

"Where are they?"

"Locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and we can't get out of this room -"

"No problem," George said from the front passenger seat. "Out of the way, you two."

Fred and George climbed catlike through the window into our room. We glanced at each other. You have to hand it to them, Harry and I thought, as George took an ordinary hairpin from his pocket and started to pick the lock.

"A lot of wizards think it's a waste of time, knowing this sort of Muggle trick," Fred said. "but we feel they're skills worth learning, even if they _are_ a bit slow."

There was a soft click and the door swung open.

"So - we'll get your trunks - you two grab anything you both need from your room and hand it out ro Ron," George whispered.

"Watch out for the bottom stair - it creaks," Harry and I whispered back as the twins disappeared onto the dark landing.

Harry and I dashed around our room, collecting our things and passing them out the window to Ron. Then we went to help Fred and George heave our trunks, one at a time, up the stairs. We heard Uncle Vernon cough.

Finally, we reached the landing, slightly out of breath, and carried the trunks through our room to the open window. I climbed into the car to pull the trunks in with Ron, and Harry, Fred and George pushed from the bedroom side. Inch by inch, the trunks each slid through the window.

We heard Uncle Vernon cough again.

"A bit more," Fred panted, as he pushed from inside the room. "One good push -"

The three boys threw their shoulders against the trunk and my trunk, the last one, slid out the window and into the back seat of the car.

"Okay, let's go," George whispered, climbing into the car with Fred.

However, as I took Harry's hand and helped him climb onto the windowsill there were a couple of loud screeches from behind him. Immediately after, Uncle Vernon's thundering voice rang through the house.

**"THOSE RUDDY OWLS!"**

"We've forgotten Hedwig and Elon!"

I quickly climbed back into the room as Harry doubled back across. The landing light clicked on - he snatched up both cages, dashed back toward the window, handing Elon quickly to me. Ron grabbed Hedwig and Fred took Elon. We quickly scrambled back onto the chest of drawers and Harry climbed in first and I was just pulling myself in when Uncle Vernon hammered on the unlocked door - and it crashed open.

For a split second, Uncle Vernon stood framed in the doorway; then he let out a bellow like an angry bull and dived at me, seizing my leg. I screamed, kicking out with my other. He pulled me, sliding my body partway out of the car.

Fred, George and Ron grabbed my arms and Harry wrapped his arms quickly around my waist. They all pulled as hard as they could, trying to pull me back into the car.

"Petunia!" Uncle Vernon roared. "They're getting away! **THEY'RE GETTING AWAY**!"

However, I'd brought my foot back and struck forward with as much force as I could, smashing him in the face just as the Harry and the Weasleys gave a gigantic tug. Uncle Vernon's grip relaxed and he stumbled backward with the force of my kick. I yanked my legs back away from him. I was in the car - Ron'd slammed the door shut -

"Put your foot down, Fred!" Ron yelled, and the car shot suddenly toward the moon.

Neither Harry not I could believe it - we were free! Harry rolled down the window, the night air whipping our hair, and looked back at the shrinking rooftops of Privet Drive together. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley were all hanging, dumbstruck, out of my and Harry's bedroom window.

"See you next summer!" We yelled.

The Weasleys roared with laughter. Harry settled back into the seat while I hugged the three brothers, thanking them for saving us. Harry and I were both grinning like a pair of Cheshire Cats.

"Let Hedwig and Elon out, please," Harry told Ron as I hugged Fred, who jumped in surprise and the car swerved before he straightened it out again. George laughed. "They can fly behind us. They haven't had a chance to stretch their wings in ages."

George handed the hairpin to Ron and, a few moments later, Hedwig and Elon soared joyfully out the window to glide alongside us like a pair of ghosts.

"So - what's t story, Harry, Cheyenne?" Ron asked impatiently. "What's been happening?"

Harry and I told them, in turn, all about Dobby, the warning he'd given the two of us, and the fiasco of the violet pudding. There was a long, shocked silence when we had finished.

"Very fishy," Fred finally said.

"Definitely dodgy," George agreed. "So he wouldn't even tell either of you who's supposed to be plotting all this stuff?"

"We don't think he could," We admitted. "We told you, every time he got close to letting something slip, he started banging his head against the wall."

We saw Fred and George look at each other.

"What, you think. . .he was lying to us?" Harry and I asked, glancing at each other this time.

"Well," Fred said, "put it this way - house-elves have got powerful magic of their own, but they can't usually use it without their master's permission. I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you both coming back to Hogwarts. Someone's idea of a joke. Can either of you think of _anyone_ at school with a grudge against one of you?"

"Yes," Harry, Ron and I said together, instantly.

"Draco Malfoy," Harry and I explained. "He hates us,"

"Draco Malfoy?" George asked, turning around to face us. "Not Lucius Malfoy's son?"

"Must be, it's not a very common name, is it?" We asked. "Why?"

"I've heard Dad talking about him," George explained. "He was a _big_ supporter of You-Know-Who."

"And when You-Know-Who disappeared," Fred said, craning around to look at Harry and I. He smiled and my heart skipped a beat. "Lucius Malfoy came back saying he'd never meant any of it. Load of dung - Dad reckons he was right to You-Know-Who's inner circle."

Harry and I had heard these rumors about Malfoy's family before, and they didn't surprise us at all. Malfoy made Dudley Dursley look like a kind, thoughtful, and sensitive boy.

"We don't really know whether the Malfoys own a house-elf. . . ." Harry and I admitted.

"Well, whoever owns him will be an old wizarding family, and they'll be rich," Fred said.

"Yeah, Mum's always wishing we had a house-elf to do the ironing," George interjected. "But all we've got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and gnomes all over the garden. House-elves come with big old mansions and castles and places like that; you wouldn't catch one in our house. . . ."

Harry and I glanced at each other again, both of us silent. Judging by the fact that Draco Malfoy usually had the best of everything, his family was rolling in wizard gold; we could both just see Malfoy strutting around a large manor house. Sending the family servent to stop Harry and I from returning to Hogwarts also sounded exactly like the sort of thing Malfoy would do. Had Harry and I been stupid to take Dobby seriously?

I gazed out the windsheild silently to think. I only heard some of the things the boys were talking about as I tuned in and out randomly. I heard about the Weasleys' ancient owl, Errol, Percy's strange behavior and of Ron's father's work in the Ministry of Magic. I returned from my thinking when George said we were almost there. A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon to the east.

Fred brought the car lower, and Harry and I saw a dark patchwork of fields and clumps of trees.

"We're a little way outside the village," George said. "Ottery St. Catchpole."

Lower and lower went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant red sun was now gleaming through the trees ahead of us.

"Touchdown!" Fred said as, with a slight bump, we hit the ground. We had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard, and Harry and I looked out for the first time at Ron's house.

It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic (which, Harry and I reminded ourselves, it probably was). Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground neard the entrance read, THE BURROW. Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.

"It's not much," Ron said.

"It's **wonderful**," Harry and I said happily, thinking of Privet Drive.

We got out of the car.

"Now, we'll go upstairs really quietly," Fred said, "and wait for Mum to call us for breakfast. Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going, 'Mum, look who two people turned up in the night!' and she'll be all pleased to see Harry and Cheyenne, and no one need ever know we flew the car."

"Right," Ron said. "Come on, Harry, Cheyenne, I sleep at the - at the top -"

Ron had turned a nasty greenish color, his eyes fixed on the house. The four of us wheeled around.

Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a sabor-toothed tiger.

"**Ah**," Fred said.

"Oh dear," George said.

Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of us, her hands on her hips, staring at each of our guilty faces in turn. She was wearing a flowered apron with a wand sticking out of the pocket.

"_So_," She said.

"Morning, Mum," George said, in what he clearly thought was a jaunty, winning voice.

"Have you any idea how worried I've been?" Mrs. Weasley said in a deadly whisper.

"Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to -"

All three of Mrs. Weasley's sons were taller than she, but they cowered as her rage broke over them.

"_Beds empty! No note! Car gone -could have crashed - out of my mind with worry -_ _did you care? __Never__, as long as I've lived - you wait until your father gets home, we __never__ had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy -"_

"Perfect Percy," Fred muttered.

"YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S BOOK!" Mrs. Weasley yelled, prodding a finger in Fred's chest. _"You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job -"_

This seemed to go on for **hours**. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before finally rounding Harry and I. We quickly backed away, Harry taking my hand as I shuffled behind him.

"I've very pleased to see you both, Harry, Cheyenne, dears," she said. "Come in and have some breakfast."

She turned and walked back into the house and the two of us, after some nervous glances at Ron, who nodded encouragingly, followed her. Harry led me by the hand.

The kitchen was small and rather cramped. There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle, and Harry and I took seats next to each other, both of us sitting on the edge of our chairs and looking around. Neither of us had ever been in a wizard house before.

The clock on the wall opposite us had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edge were things like _Time to make tea, Time to feed the chickens, _and _You're late._ Books were stacked three deep on the mantlepiece, books with titles like _Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in Baking, _and_ One Minute Feasts - It's Magic!_ And unless our ears were decieving us, the old radio next to the sink had just announced that coming up was 'Witching Hour, with the popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck.'

Mrs. Weasley was clattering around, cooking breakfast a little haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as she threw sausages into the frying pan. Every now and then she muttered things like '. . .don't know _what_ you were thinking of,' and '_never_ would have believed it. . ."

"I don't blame _you two,_ dears," she assured Harry and I, tipping eight or nine sausages each onto our plates. "Authur and I have been worried about you both, too. Just last night we were saying we'd come and get you ourselves if you hadn't written back to Ron by Friday. But really," (she was just adding three fried eggs each to our plates) "flying an illegal car halfway across the country - anyone could have seen you -"

She flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to clean themselves, clinking gently in the background.

"It was _cloudly_, Mum!" Fred said.

"You keep your mouth closed while you're eating!" Mrs. Weasley snapped.

"They were starving them, Mum!" George broke in.

"And you!" Mrs. Weasley said, but it was with a slightly softened expression that she started cutting Harry and I some bread and buttering it for us.

At that moment there was a diversion in the form of a small, red-headed figure in a long nightdress, who appeared in the kitchen, gave a small squeal, and ran out again.

"Ginny," I heard Ron say in an undertone to Harry. "My sister. She's been talking about you both all summer."

"Yeah, she'll be wanting your autographs, especially yours, Harry," Fred said with a grin, but he caught his mother's eye and bent his face over his plate without another word. I giggled softly, covering it with a cough. Nothing more was said until all five plates were clean, which took a surprisingly short time.

"Blimey, I'm tired," Fred yawned, setting down his knife and fork at last. "I think I'll go to bed and -"

"You will not," Mrs. Weasley snapped. "It's your own fault you've been up all night. You're going to de-gnome the garden for me; they're getting completely out of hand again -"

"Oh, Mum -"

"And you two," She said, glaring at Ron and George. "You both can go up to bed," She added to Harry and I. "Neither of you asked them to fly that wretched car -"

But Harry and I, both of us feeling wide awake, quickly said, "We'll help Ron. We've never seen a de-gnoming -"

"That's very sweet of you both, but it's dull work," Mrs. Weasley said. "Now, let's see what Lockhart's got to say on the subject -"

She pulled a heavy book from the stac on the mantlepiece. George groaned.

"Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden -"

Harry and I looked closely at the cover of Mrs. Weasley's book. Written across it in fancy gold letters were the words _Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests._ There was a big photograph on the front of a very good-looking wizard with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. As always in the wizarding world, the photograph was moving; the wizard, who we supposed was Gilderoy Lockhart, kept winking cheekily up at us all. Mrs. Weasley beamed down at him.

"Oh, he is marvelous," she said. "He knows his household pests, all right, it's a wonderful book. . . .I think you'd find some of his books interesting, Cheyenne. . ."

Fred frowned, "Oh, Mum, don't drag Cheyenne into fancieing him too. She's too smart for that." He smiled at me as my face burned in embarressment at his praise. "Mum _fancies_ Lockhart."

"Don't be so ridiculous, Fred," Mrs. Weasley said, her cheeks rather pink. "All right, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betide you if there's a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it."

Yawning and grumbling, the Weasleys slouched outside with Harry and I following close behind. The garden was large, and in our eyes, exactly like a garden should be. The Dursleys wouldn't have liked it - there were plenty of weeds, and the grass needed cutting - but there were gnarled trees all around the walls, plants neither Harry nor I had ever seen spilling from every flower bed, and a big green pond full of frogs.

"Muggles have garden gnomes, too, you know," I heard Harry tell Ron as we crossed the lawn. I saw something moving in one of the bushes and hurried past the twins to see what it was.

"Careful there, Cheyenne, the gnomes have been known to bite." Fred called after me.

"Yeah, I've seen those things they think are gnomes," Ron said, bending double over the peony bush next to the bush I was searching. "like fat little Santa Clauses with fishing rods. . . ."

There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered, and Ron straightened up. "**This** is a gnome," he said grimly.

"Gerroff me! Gerroff me!" the gnome squealed.

This creature was certainly nothing like Santa Clause. It was small and leathery looking, with a large, knobbly bald head exactly like a potato. Ron held it at arms' length as it kicked out at him with its' horny little feet; he grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside down.

"This is what you have to do," he said. He raised the gnome above his head and started to swing it in great circles like a lasso. Harry and I must've looked really shocked because Ron quickly added. "It doesn't _hurt_ them - you've just got to make them really dizzy so they can't find their way back to the gnomeholes."

He released the gnome's ankles: It flew twenty feet into the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge.

"Pitiful," Fred said. "I bet I can get mine beyond that stump."

Harry and I soon learned not to feel too sorry for the gnomes. We each got bit at least once: Harry had tried just dropping his first one over the hedge and I was thinking of doing the same for mine as I searched. However, the gnomes, sensing weakness, sank each of their razor-sharp teeth into our fingers and won't easily let go - until -

"Wow, Harry, Cheyenne - each of those must've been fifty feet. . . ."

The air was soon thick with flying gnomes.

"See, they're not too bright," George said, seizing five or six gnomes at once. "The moment they know the de-gnoming's going on they storm up to have a look. You'd think they'd have learned by now just to stay put."

Soon, the crowd of gnomes in the field started walking away in a straggling line, their little shoulders hunched.

"They'll be back," Ron said as we watched the gnomes disappear into the hedge on the other side of the field. "They love it here. . . .Dad's too soft with them; he thinks they're funny. . . ."

Just then, the front door slammed.

"He's back!" George said. "Dad's home!"

We hurried through the garden and back into the house.

Mr. Weasley was slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses off and his eyes closed. He was a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children's. He was wearing long green robes, which were dusty and travel-worn.

"What a night," he mumbled, groping for the teapot as we all sat down around him. "Nine raids! **Nine**! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned. . . ."

Mr. Weasley took a long gulp of tea and sighed.

"Find anything, Dad?" Fred asked eagerly.

"All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle," Mr. Weasley yawned. "There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn't my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that's the Committee on Experimental Charms, thank goodness. . . ."

"Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?" George asked.

"Just Muggle-baiting," Mr. Weasley sighed. "Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it. . . .Of course, it's very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking - they'll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it's staring them in the face. . . .But the things our lot have taken to enchanting, you wouldn't believe -"

"LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?"

Mrs. Weasley had appeared, holding a long poker like a sword. Mr. Weasley's eyes jerked open and he stared rather guiltily at his wife.

"C-cars, Molly, dear?"

"Yes, Authur, cars," Mrs. Weasley said, her eyes flashing. "Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked while **really** he was enchanting it to make it _fly_."

Mr. Weasley blinked.

"Well, dear, I think you'll find that he would be quite within the law to do that, even if - er - he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth. . . .There's a loophole in the law, you'll find. . . .As long as he wasn't **intending** to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly wouldn't -"

"Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!" Mrs. Weasley shouted. "Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your information, Harry and Cheyenne arrived this morning in the car you weren't intending to _fly!_ "

"Harry and Cheyenne?" Mr. Weasley asked, rather blankly. "Harry and Cheyenne who?"

He looked around, saw the two of us, and jumped.

"Good lord, is it the famous P-team, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power? Very pleased to meet you both, Ron's told us so much about -"

_"Your sons flew that car to Harry and Cheyenne's house and back last night!"_ Mrs. Weasley shouted. "What have you got to say about that, eh?"

"_Did you really? _" Mr. Weasley asked eagerly. "Did it go all right? I - I mean," he faltered as sparks flew from Mrs. Weasley's eyes. "that - that was very wrong boys - very wrong indeed. . . ."

"Let's leave them to it," Ron muttered to Harry and I as Mrs. Weasley swelled like a bullfrog." Come on, I'll show you both my bedroom."

We slipped out of the kitchen and down a narrow passageway to an uneven staircase, which wound its way, zigzagging up through the house. On the third landing, a door stood ajar. Harry and I _just_ caught sight of a pair of bright brown eyes staring at us (mainly him) before it closed with a snap.

"Ginny," Ron said. "You don't know how weird it is for her to be this shy. She never shuts up normally -"

We climbed two more flights until we reached a door with peeling paint and a small plague on it, saying **RONALD'S ROOM.**

We stepped in, our heads almost touching the sloping ceiling, and blinked together. It was like walking into a very large furnace: Nearly everything in Ron's room seemed to be a violent shade of orange: the bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling. Then Harry and I realized that Ron had covered nearly every inch of the shabby wallpaper with posters of the same seven witches and wizards, all wearing bright orange robes, carrying brooksticks, and waving energetically.

"Your Quidditch team?" Harry asked and I stared around with wide-eyes.

"The Chudley Cannons," Ron said, pointing at the orange bed-spread, which was emblazoned with two giant black C's and a speeding cannon ball. "Ninth in the league."

Ron's school spellbooks were stacked untidily in a corner, next to a pile of comics that all seemed to feature _The Adventures of Martin Migg, the Mad Muggle_. Ron's magic wand was lying on top of a fish tank full of frog spawn on the windowsill, next to his fat gray rat, Scabbers, who was snoozing in a patch of sun.

Stepping over a pack of Self-Shuffling playing cards on the floor, Harry and I looked out the window far below, in the field, where we could see a gang of gnomes sneaking one by one back through the Weasleys' hedge. Then we both turned to look at Ron, who was watching us almost nervously, as though waiting for our opinion.

"It's a bit small," Ron said, quickly. "Not like that room you both shared with the Muggles. And I'm right underneath the ghoul in the attic; he's always banging on the pipes and groaning. . . ."

But Harry and I, grinning widely, said together, "This is the **best** house we've ever been in."

Ron's ears turned pink.


	4. At Flourish and Blotts

**Chapter Four**

**At Flourish and Blotts**

Life at the Burrow was almost the complete opposite from life on Privet Drive. While the Dursleys liked everything neat and orderly, the Weasleys' house burst with the strange and unexpected. Both Harry and I received quite the shock the first time he'd looked in the mirror over the kitchen mantlepiece and it shouted, "Tuck in your shirt, scruffy!" The ghoul in the attic howled and dropped pipes whenever he felt things were getting too quiet, and the small explosions coming from Fred and George room were, actually, considered completely normal. However, the one thing Harry and I found most unusual about living at Ron's wasn't the talking mirror or the clanking ghoul: It was the fact that **everyone** here seemed to like us!

Mrs. Weasley often fussed over the state of our socks and tried to force us to eat fourth helpings at every meal. Mr. Weasley usually liked Harry and I to sit next to him at the dinner table so that he could bombard us with questions about life with Muggles, asking us to explain how things like plugs and the postal services worked.

"_Fascinating!" _ he'd say as we walked him through using a telephone. "_Ingenious,_ really, how many ways Muggles have found of getting along without magic."

Harry and I heard from Hogwarts one sunny morning about a week after we'd arrived at the Burrow. Harry, Ron and I went down to breakfast to find Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny already sitting at the kitchen table. The moment she saw Harry, I saw Ginny accidentally knock her porridge bowl to the floor with a loud clatter. The younger girl seemed quite prone to knocking things over whenever Harry was in the room. She dived under the table to retrieve the bowl and re-emerged with her face glowing like the setting sun. I could see Harry pretending not to notice as he sat down at the table next to me and we both accepted the toast Mrs. Weasley offered.

"Letters from school," Mr. Weasley said, passing Harry, Ron and I each identical envelopes of yellowish parchment, addressed in green ink. "Dumbledore already knows you're both here, Harry, Cheyenne - doesn't miss a trick, that man. You two've got them, too," he added, as the twins ambled in, still wearing their pajamas.

The kitchen was silent for a few minutes as we all read our letters. The normal notice of getting to King's Cross Station to catch the Hogwarts Express on September first was there. Following was a list of the new books we'd need for the coming year:

**Second-year students will require:**

_The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Two _By: Miranda Goshawk

_Break with a Banshee _By: Gilderoy Lockhart

_Gadding with Ghouls _ By: Gilderoy Lockhart

_Holidays with Hags _By: Gilderoy Lockhart

_Travels with Trolls _By: Gilderoy Lockhart

_Voyages with Vampires _By: Gilderoy Lockhart

_Wandering with Werewolves _By: Gilderoy Lockhart

_Year with the Yeti _By: Gilderoy Lockhart

Geeze, for a famous wizard, this guy sure published a lot of books! Although, a few did sound fascinating!

"You both've been told to get all of Lockhart's books too!" I heard Fred say and looked at him, only to see him leaning close to me, looking at my list. I felt like I was about to pass out! "The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher must be a fan - bet it's a witch."

Once he was finished, he caught his mother's eyes and quickly busied himself with the marmalade.

"That lot won't come cheap," George said, with a quick look at his parents. "Lockhart's books are really expensive . . . ."

"Well, we'll manage," Mrs. Weasley said, looking worried. "I expect we'll be able to pick up a lot of Ginny's things secondhand."

"Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts this year?" I heard Harry ask Ginny. I looked around him to look at the younger girl.

She nodded, blushing to the very roots of her fiery hair, and leaned her elbow in the butter dish. Thankfully, no one else saw except Harry and I, because Ron's elder brother, Percy, just walked in. He was alredy dressed, his Hogwarts Prefect badge pinned to his sweat vest.

"Morning, all," Percy said briskly. "Lovely day."

He took the last chair remaining but leapt up almost instantly again, pulling what looked to be a moulting, gray feather duster from underneath him. Then, I noticed that it was _breathing!_

"Errol!" Ron said, taking the limp owl from Percy and extracting a letter from under his wing. "_Finally _- he's got Hermione's answer. I wrote to her saying we were going to try and rescue you both from the Dursleys."

He carried Errol to a perch just on the inside of the back door and tried to stand him on it, but Errol flopped straight off it again, which had Ron laying him on the draining board instead as he muttered, "Pathetic." Before procceding to rip open Hermione's letter and reading it aloud:

_Dear Ron, and Harry and Cheyenne, if you're both there,_

_I hope everything went all right and that Harry and Cheyenne are both okay and that you didn't do anything illegal to get them out, Ron, because that would get them both in trouble, too. I've been really worried and if Harry and Cheyenne are both all right, will you please let me know at once, but perhaps it would be best if you used a different owl, because I believe another delivery just might finish your's off._

_I'm busy with schoolwork, of course - _"How **can** she be?" Ron asked in horror. "We're on vacation!" - _and we're going to London next Wednesday to buy my new books. Why don't we meet in Diagon Alley?_

_Let me know what's happening as soon as you can._

_Love from, Hermione._

"Well, that fits in nicely, we can go and get all your things then, too," Mrs. Weasley said, beginning to clear the table. "What're you all up to today?"

Harry and I were going with Ron, Fred and George up the hill to a small paddock the Weasley owned. It was surrounded by trees that blocked it from view of the village below, meaning we could practice Quidditch there, so long as we didn't fly too high.

We couldn't use real Quidditch balls, which would have been really hard to explain if they escaped and flew away over the village; so instead we threw apples for each other to catch. We each took turns riding my and Harry's Nimbus Two Thousands, which were easily the best brooms; Ron's old Shooting Star kept getting outstripped by passing butterflies.

Five minutes later we were marching up the hill, broomsticks over our shoulders. We had asked Percy if he had wanted to join us, but he had said he was busy. So far, Harry and I had only seen him at mealtimes; he often spent the rest of his time locked up in his bedroom.

"Wish I knew what he was up to," Fred said, frowning. "He's not really himself. His exam results came the day before you two did; twelve O.W.L.S and he hardly even gloated at all."

"Ordinary Wizarding Levels," George explained, seeing the puzzled looks on my and Harry's faces. "Bill got twelve too. If we're not careful, we'll have another Head Boy in the family. I don't think I could stand the shame."

Bill was the eldest Weasley brother. He and the second born brother, Charlie, had already left Hogwarts. Neither Harry nor I had ever met either of them, but knew that Charlie was in Romania studying dragons and Bill was in Egypt working for the wizards' bank, Gringotts.

"Dunno how Mum and Dad are going to afford all our school stuff this year," George said after a while. "Five sets of Lockhart books! **And** Ginny needs robes and a wand and everything. . . ."

Harry and I looked at each other, saying nothing. We both felt a bit awkward. Stored in an underground vault at Gringotts in London was a small fortune that our parents had left us. Of course, it was only in the wizarding world that we had money; Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts couldn't be used in Muggle stores. We'd **never** mentioned our Gringotts bank account to the Dursleys; we didn't think their horror of anything connected with magic would stretch to a large pile of gold.

The following Wednesday, Mrs. Weasley had us all up early. After a quick breakfast of half a dozen bacon sandwiches each, we pulled on our coats and Mrs. Weasley took a flower pot off the kitchen mantelpiece and peered inside.

"We're running low, Arthur," She sighed. "We'll have to buy some more today. . . .Ah well, guests first! After you two, Harry, Cheyenne!"

And she offered us the flowerpot.

We looked at each other, then stared at everyone else watching us.

"W-what are we supposed to do?" We stammered.

"They've never travelled by Floo powder," Ron said suddenly. "Sorry you two, I forgot."

"Never?" Mr. Weasley asked. "But how did you two get to Diagon Alley to buy all your school things last year?"

"We went on the Underground -"

"Really?" Mr. Weasley interrupted eagerly. "Were there _escapators?_ How exactly -"

"Not **now**, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley cut in. "Floo powder's a lot quicker, dears, but goodness me, if neither of you've ever used it before -"

"They'll be all right, Mum," Fred said. "Watch us first. And don't look away," He whispered the last part near my ear and my face instantly warmed.

Fred took a pinch of glittering powder out of the flower pot, stepped up to the fire, and threw it into the flames.

With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose higher than Fred, who stepped right into it, (winked), then shouted, "Diagon Alley!" and vanished.

"You both must speak clearly," Mrs. Weasley told Harry and I as George dipped his hand into the flowerpot. "And be sure to get out at the right gate."

"The right _what?_" We asked nervously as the fire roared and whipped George out of sight, too.

"Well, there are an awful lot of wizard fires to choose from, you know, but as long as you've spoken clearly -"

"They'll be fine, Molly, don't fuss," Mr. Weasley said, helping himself to Floo powder, too.

"But, dear, if they got lost, how would we ever explain to their aunt and uncle?"

"They won't mind," Harry reassured her. "Dudley would think itwas a brilliant joke if Chey or I got lost up a chimney, don't worry about that -"

"Well. . .all right. . .you two can go after Arthur," Mrs. Weasley said. "Now, when you get into the fire, say where you're going -"

"And keep your elbows tucked in," Ron advised.

"And your eyes shut," Mrs. Weasley added. "The shoot -"

"Don't fidget," Ron said. "Or you might just fall out of the wrong fireplace -"

"And don't panic and get out too early; wait until you see Fred and George."

Trying to bear all this in mind, I stepped forward first and took a pinch of Floo powder before walking to the edge of the fire. Inhaling deeply, I threw the powder into the flames, and stepped forward; the fire felt like a nice breeze; I blinked and inhaled, only to have hot ash burn my eyes and nostrils, which made me sneeze.

"D - D -Dia - gon Al - ley!" I managed between sneezes.

It felt as though I was being sucked down a giant drain. I seemed to be spinning very fast - the roaring in my ears was deafening - I tred to keep my eyes open but the whirl of green flame made me feel really sick - I felt something bump my elbow, making it sting and I quickly tucked it in, continuing to spin - cold wind started slapping my face - I squinted through my glasses, trying to see some of the blurred stream of fireplaces and snatched glimpses of the rooms beyond - I could feel my bacon sandwiches churning around in my stomach - I closed my eyes tightly, wishing it would stop, and then -

I slid on my back onto a cold stone floor. A groan escaped my lips and I sat up, rubbing my throbbing funny bone.

Feeling dizzy, bruised and like I was covered from head to foot in soot, I climbed gingerly to my feet. I was completely alone, but _where _I was, I had no clue. All I could tell was that I was standing before the stone fireplace of what looked like a large, dimly lit wizard's shop - but nothing in here was ever likely to be on a Hogwarts school list.

A glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a blood-stained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks stared down from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. Even worse, the dark, narrow street I could see through the dusty shop window was definitely _not_ Diagon Alley.

I was just thinking about getting out of here when the roar of a fire sounded from behind me and I whipped around just in time to see Harry appear. He fell forward, landing on me and taking me to the floor. I yelped in surprise, and looked worriedly up at him.

"Sorry Chey!" He said quickly once he saw he was on top of me. Face turning red, he quickly pushing himself away from me and helped me to my feet before looking around, holding his broken glasses up to his eyes. I took his hand and led the way swiftly and silently toward the door, however, before we'd gotten halfway toward it, two people appeared on the other side of the glass - and one of them was the very last person Harry and I wanted to meet when we were lost, covered in soot and with one of us wearing broken glasses: Draco Malfoy.

We looked around quickly and Harry pulled me into a large black cabinet to our left and pulled the door closed, leaving a small crack to peer through. Seconds later, a bell clanged, and Malfoy stepped into the shop.

The man who followed could only be Draco's father. He had the same pale, pointed face and identical cold, gray eyes. Mr. Malfoy crossed the shop, looking lazily at the items on display, and rang a bell on the counter before turning to his son and saying, "Touch _nothing,_ Draco."

Malfoy, who'd reached for the glass eye, said, "I thought you were going to buy me a present."

"I said I would buy you a racing broom," his father replied, drumming his fingers on the counter.

"What's the good of that if I'm not on the House team?" Malfoy asked, looking really sulky and bad-tempered. "Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power both got Nimbus Two Thousands last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so they could play for Gryffindor. They're not even that good, it's just because they're _famous_. . .famous for having those stupid **scars** on their foreheads. . . ."

Malfoy bent down to examine a shelf full of skulls.

"Everyone thinks they're so _smart_, wonderful Powter with their scars and their broomsticks -"

"You have told me this at least a dozen times already," Mr. Malfoy interrupted with a quelling look at his son. "And I would remind you that it is not - prudent - to appear less than fond of Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power, not when most of our kind regard them as the heros who made the Dark Lord disappear - ah, Mr. Borgin."

I could just see the stooping man appear behind the counter, smoothing really greasy hair away from his face.

"Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again," Mr. Borgin said, his voice as oily as his hair. If any more grease came from this man then the whole of London would be supplied with something to cook their bacon in, although, eating the grease that came from this man could possibly make someone sick for a week. "Delighted - and young Master Malfoy, too - charmed. How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today, and at a very reasonable price -"

"I'm not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling," Mr. Malfoy cut in.

"Selling?" Mr. Borgin asked, his smile fading.

"You've heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids" Mr. Malfoy said, pulling a roll of parchment from an inside pocket of his jacket and unraveling it for Mr. Borgin to read. "I have a few - eh - items at my home that might embarress me, should the Ministry think to call. . . ."

Fixing a pair of pince-nez to his nose, Mr. Borgin looked down the list.

"The Ministry wouldn't presume to trouble you, sir, surely?"

Mr. Malfoy's lip curled.

"I haven't been visited yet. The Malfoy name still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There _are_ rumors about a new Muggle Protection Act - no doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it -"

I bit my lip hard in anger as I felt Harry tense beside me.

" - and as you can see, certain of these poisons might make it **appear** -"

"I understand, sir, of course," Mr. Borgin said. "Let me see. . ."

"Can I have **that**?" Draco interrupted, pointing at the withered hand on its cushion.

"Ah, the Hand of Glory!" Mr. Borgin said, dropping Mr. Malfoy's list and scurrying over to Draco. "Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunders! Your son has fine taste, sir."

"I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunder, Borgin," Mr. Malfoy said coolly, which hade Mr. Borgin apologizing quickly, "No offense, sir, no offense meant -"

"Though if his grades don't pick up," Mr. Malfoy interrupted, his tone seeming to drip with ice, "that may indeed be all he is fit for -"

"It's not my fault," Malfoy retorted quickly. "The teachers all have favorites, that Cheyenne Power and Hermione Granger -"

"One if half bred and one is Muggle born. Are you _not_ ashamed they both beat you in every exam?" Mr. Malfoy snapped.

"Ha!" Harry said under his breath as I smirked, pleased to see Malfoy looking both abashed and angry.

"It's the same all over," Mr. Borgin interjected in his oily voice. "Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere -"

"Not with me," Mr. Malfoy said, long nostrils flaring.

"No, sir, nor with me, sir," Mr. Borgin said, bowing deeply.

"In that case, pehaps we can return to my list," Mr. Malfoy said shortly. "I am in somewhat of a hurry, Borgin, I have important business elsewhere today -"

The two men begin to haggle. Harry and I watched nervously as Draco drew slowly closer to our hiding spot, examining the objects for sale. He paused to examine a long coil of hangman's ropes and to read, with a smirk, the card propped on a magnificent necklace of opals: _Caution: Do Not Touch. Cursed - Has claimed the Lives of Nineteen Muggle Owners to Date._

Draco turned away from the necklace and saw the cabinet right in front of him. He moved forward - his hand stretched out for the handle -

"Done," Mr. Malfoy said from the counter. "Come, Draco -"

I gave a relieved sigh as Draco turned away.

"Good day to you, Mr. Borgin. I'll expect you at the manor tomorrow to pick up the goods."

The moment the door closed, Mr. Borgin dropped his oily manner.

"Good day yourself, _Mister_ Malfoy, and if the stories are you, are haven't sold me half of what's hidden in your _manor. . . ."_

Muttering darkly, Mr. Borgin disappeared into a back room. Harry and I waited for a minute just in case he came back, then, quietly as we could, both slipped from the cabinet, past the glass cases, and out of the shop door.

Clutching Harry's sleeve, I followed closely behind him as we stared around. We had emerged into a dingy alleyway that seemed to be made up entirely of shops devoted to the Dark Arts. The one we'd just left, Borgin and Burkes, looked like the largest, but opposite was a nasty window display of shrunken heads and, two doors down, a large cage was alive with gigantic black spiders. Two shabby-looking wizards were watching us from a shadowy doorway, muttering to each other. Feeling jumpy, we set off, Harry trying to keep his glasses straight and the two of us hoping we'd be able to find our way out of here.

An old wooden street sign hanging over a shop selling poisonous candles told us we were in Knockturn Alley. This didn't help us, as neither Harry nor I had ever heard of such a place. We supposed we hadn't spoken clearly enough through our mouth and noseful of ashes back in the Weasleys' fire. Trying extremely hard to remain calm, we wondered what we should do.

"Not lost are you, my dears?" a voice said in our ears, making the two of us jump.

An aged witch stood in front of us, holding a tray of what looked horribly like whole human fingernails. She leered at us, showing mossy teeth. Harry put an arm out as though to shield me as we backed away.

"We're fine, thanks," Harry said. "We're just -"

"HARRY! CHEYENNE! What d'yeh think yer doin' down there?"

My heart soared. The witch jumped; a load of fingernails cascaded down over her feet and she cursed as the massive form of Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, came striding toward us, his beetle-black eyes flashing over his great bristling beard.

"Hagrid!" Harry and I croaked in relief. "We were lost - Floo powder -"

Hagrid seized Harry by the scruff of the neck as I hugged him around the waist, hanging on for dear life as he pulled us away from the witch, knocking the tray right out of her hands. We could hear her shrieks as we followed the twisting alleyway out into bright sunlight. Harry and I saw a familiar, snow-white marble building in the distance - Gringotts bank. Hagrid had steered us right into Diagon Alley.

"Yer botha mess!" Hagrid said gruffly, brushing soot off the two of us so forcefully he nearly knocked us into a barrel of dragon dung outside an apothecary. "Skulkin' around Knockturn Alley, I dunno - dodgy place, you two - don' want no one ter see yeh down there -"

"We realized _that_," Harry said, grabbing my shoulders and ducking us out of the way as Hagrid made to brush us off again. "We told you, we were lost - what were you doing down there, anyway?"

"_I _was lookin' fer a Flesh-Eatin' Slug Repellent," Hagrid growled. "They're ruinin' the school cabbages. Yer not on yer own?"

"We're staying with the Weasleys but we got separated," I explained. "We've got to go find them. . . ."

We set off together down the street.

"How come neither of yeh ever wrote back ter me?" Hagrid asked us as Harry and I jogged alongside him (we had to take three steps to every stride of Hagrid's enormous boots). We both explained all about Dobby and the Dursleys.

"Lousy Muggles," Hagrid finally growled. "If I'd've known -"

"Harry! Cheyenne! Over here!"

Harry and I looked up and saw Hermione Granger standing at the top of the white flight of steps to Gringotts. She ran down to meet us, her bushy hair flying behind her.

"Harry, what happened to your glasses? Hello, Hagrid, Cheyenne - Oh, it's _wonderful_ to see you three again - Are you coming into Gringotts, Harry, Cheyenne?"

"As soon as we've found the Weasleys," Harry said.

"Yeh won't have long ter wait," Hagrid said, grinning.

Harry, Hermione, and I looked around: sprinting up the crowded street were Ron, Fred, George, Percy and Mr. Weasley.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley panted. "Cheyenne, we'd _hoped_ you'd both only gone one grate too far. . . ." He mopped at his glistening bald spot. "Molly's frantic - she's coming now -"

"Where'd you two come out?" Ron asked.

"Knockturn Alley," Hagrid said grimly.

"_Excellent!_" Fred and George said together.

"We've never been allowed in," Ron said enviously.

"I should ruddy well think not," Hagrid growled.

Mrs. Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swinging wildly in one hand, Ginny just barely clinging onto the other.

"Oh, Harry - Cheyenne - oh, my dears - you both could have been anywhere -"

Gasping for breath, she pulled a large clothes brush from her bag and began sweeping off the soot Hagrid hadn't managed to beat away. Mr. Weasley took Harry's glasses, gave them a tap of his wand, and returned them, good as new.

"Well, gotta be off," Hagrid said as his hand was being wrung by Mrs. Weasley, who was thanking him endlessly. "See yer at Hogwarts!" He strode away, head and shoulders taller than anyone else in the packed street.

"Guess who we saw in Borgin and Burkes?" Harry and I asked Ron and Hermione as we climbed the Gringotts steps. "Malfoy and his father."

"Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?" Mr. Weasley asked sharply from behind us.

"No, he was selling -"

"So he's worried," Mr. Weasley said with grim satisfaction. "Oh, I'd love to get Lucius Malfoy for something. . . ."

"You be careful, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley said sharply as we were bowed into the bank by a goblin at the door. "That family's trouble. Don't go biting off more than you can chew -"

"So you don't think I'm a match for Lucius Malfoy?" Mr. Weasley asked indignantly, but was distracted almost at once by the sight of Hermione's parents, who were standing nervously at the counter that ran the length of the great marble hall, waiting for Hermione to introduce them.

"But you're _**Muggles**__!_" Mr. Weasley said delightedly. "We must have a drink! What's that you've got there? Oh, you're changing Muggle money. Molly, look!" He pointed excitedly at the ten-pound note in Mr. Granger's hand.

"Meet you back here," Ron said to Hermione as Harry and I followed the Weasleys off to our underground vaults, led by another Gringotts goblin.

The vaults were reached by means of small, goblin-driven carts that sped along miniature train tracks through the banks' underground tunnels. Harry and I enjoyed the journey down to the Weasleys' vault, that is, until it opened. Dread, more than I'd even felt in Knockturn Alley, replaced the happy feeling in my chest. There was only a small pile of silver Sickles inside with a single golden Galleon. Mrs. Weasley felt around in the corners before sweeping the whole lot into her bag. Harry and I felt even worse than that when we reached our vault. We tried blocking the vault's contents from view as we hastily shoved handfuls of coins into two leather bags.

Back outside on the marble steps, we all separated. Percy muttered vaguely about needing a new quill. Fred and George had spotted their Hogwarts friend, Lee Jordan. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were going to a secondhand robe shop. Mr. Weasley was insisting on taking Mr. and Mrs. Granger to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink.

"We'll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy your schoolbooks," Mrs. Weasley said, setting off with Ginny. "And not one step down Knockturn Alley!" she shouted after the retreating backs of the twins.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I strolled off along the winding, cobbled street. The bags of gold, silver and bronze jangling cheerfully in my and Harry's pockets were clamoring to be spend, so we bought four large strawberry and peanut butter ice creams, which we slurped happily as we wondered up the alley, examining the fascinating shop windows. Ron gazed longingly at a full set of Chudley Cannons robes in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies until Hermione and I dragged the boys off to buy ink and parchment next door. In Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, we met Fred, George and Lee Jordan, who were stocking up on Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks. We found Percy, reading a small, painfully boring book called _Prefects Who Gained Power, _in a tiny junk shop full of broken wands, lopsided brass scales, and old cloaks covered in potion stains.

"A study of Hogwarts Prefects and their later careers," Ron read off the back cover. "That sounds _fascinating. . . ."_

"Go away," Percy snapped.

" 'Course, he's very ambitious, Percy, he's got it all planned out. . . .Wants to be Minister of Magic. . ." Ron told Harry, Hermione and I in an undertone as we left Percy to read.

An hour later, we headed for Flourish and Blotts. We were surprised to find that we weren't the only ones making our way to the bookstore. As we approached, we saw a large crowd joustling outside the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this was proclaimed by a large banner stretched across the upper windows:

_Gilderoy Lockhart will be signing copies of his autobiograph __**Magical Me**__ today 12: 30 pm to 4: 30 pm._

"We can actually meet him!" Hermione squealed. "I mean, he's written almost the whole booklist!" I'd read some of Lockhart's books, at least the ones Mrs. Weasley owned and found them to be pretty interesting, but I didn't think about idolizing the guy like other witches did. Speaking of which. . . .

The crowd seemed to mostly be made of witches around Mrs. Weasley's age. A harrassed-looking wizard stood at the door, saying, "Calmly, please, ladies. . . .Don't push, there. . .mind the books, now. . . ."

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I squeezed inside. A long line wound straight to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing his books. We each grabbed a copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ and sneaked up the line to join the rest of the Weasleys and Grangers.

"Oh, there you are, good," Mrs. Weasley said. She sounded breathless and kept patting her hair. "We'll be able to see him in a minute. . . ."

Gilderoy Lockhart came striding into view a moment later, sat at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard's hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.

A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that admitted puffs of purple smoke with each blinking flash.

"Out of the way, there," he growled at Ron, moving back to get a better shot. "This is for the _Daily Prophet -_"

"Big deal," Ron said, rubbing his foot where the photographer had trodden on it.

Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looked up, saw Ron - and then he saw Harry and I. He stared, then leapt to his feet and positively shouted, "It _can't_ be Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power?"

The crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived forward, seized both our arms and pulled us to the front. The crowd burst into applause. My face and ears burned as Lockhart shook both our hands for the photographer. The shorter wizard was clicking away wildly, wafting thick smoke over the Weasleys.

"Nice big smile, you two," Lockhart said, through his own gleaming teeth. "Together, all three of us are worth the front page."

When he finally released our hands, my fingers felt numb. Harry gently grabbed my wrist and we tried to sidle back over to the Weasleys when Lockhart threw his arms around the two of us and clamped us tightly to his sides.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he called loudly, waiting for quiet. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for quite some time now!"

"When this young couple - _Couple? COUPLE? Why did everyone always assume we were going out?_ - here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, they only wanted to buy my autobiography which I shall be happy to present them now, free of charge -" The crowd applauded again. I just wanted to get out of here. "They had _no _idea," Lockhart continued, giving the two of us a little shake, which made me a little dizzy. "that they would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, _Magical Me_. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

The crowd cheered and clapped and Harry and I found ourselves being presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Staggering under their weight, we managed to make our way out of the limelight to the edge of the room, where Ginny stood next to her new cauldron. Fred and George waited with her and Fred quickly moved forward, helping me with the books when they began to tip. I smiled gratefully at him as Harry gave his books to Ginny.

"Bet you both loved that, did you, Powter?" An easily recognized voice said. We both straightened ourselves out and found ourselves face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, who had on his usual sneer.

_"Famous_ Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power," Malfoy said. "Can't even go into a _bookshop _without making the front page together."

"Leave them alone, they didn't want all that!" Ginny said, surprising us. This was the first time she had spoken in front of Harry and she was glaring at Malfoy.

"Oh, what's this? Are you two having an open relationship, Powter? Added a new boyfriend and girlfriend into the mixture here? How charming!" Malfoy drawled. Ginny and Fred both went scarlet as Ron and Hermione fought their way over, each clutching stacks of Lockhart's books.

"Oh, it's you," Ron said, looking at Malfoy like he was something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. "Bet you're surprised to see Harry and Cheyenne here, eh?"

"Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley," Malfoy retorted. "I suppose your parents will go hungry for the next month so they could pay for all those."

Ron went as red as Ginny and Fred. He dropped his books into Ginny's cauldron with Harry's, and started for Malfoy, but got stopped by Harry and Hermione grabbing the back of his jacket.

"Ron!" Mr. Weasley said, struggling over to us, "What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."

"Well, well, well - Arthur Weasley."

It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco's shoulder, sneering in the same fashion as his son.

"Lucius," Mr. Weasley said, nodding coldly.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," Mr. Malfoy said. "All those raids. . .I hope they're paying you overtime?"

He reached into Ginny's cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, an extremely old and battered copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration._

"Obviously not," Mr. Malfoy said. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Mr. Weasley turned even darker than either Ron, Fred or Ginny.

"We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy," he said.

"Clearly," Mr. Malfoy said, his pale eyes straying to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. "The company you keep, Weasley. . .and I thought your family could sink no lower -"

The thud of metal broke off Mr. Malfoy's sentence as Ginny's cauldron was sent flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Mafloy, knocking him backwards into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down on all our heads; the twins were yelling, "Get him, Dad!" encouragingly; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, "No, Arthur, no!" ; the crowd began stampeding backwards, which caused more bookshelves to tumble over; the assistant was trying to restore peace by shouting, "Gentlemen, please - please!" until a voice called over all the noise -

"Break it up there, gents, break it up -"

It was Hagrid! He came wading toward us through the sea of books. In only an instant he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley's lip was split and Mr. Malfoy had a black eye from being hit with an _Encyclopedia of Toadstools._ He was still clutching Ginny's old Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice.

"Here, girl - take your book - it's the best your father can give you -" Pulling himself from Hagrid's grasp, he beckoned to Draco and swept from the shop.

"Yeh should've ignored him, Arthur," Hagrid said, nearly lifting Mr. Weasley off his feet as he straightened his robes. "Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that - no Malfoy's worth listenin' ter - bad blood, that's what it is - come on now - let's get outta here."

The shop assistant looked as though he wanted to stop us from leaving, but he barely came up to Hagrid's waist and thought better of it. We hurried up the street, the Grangers shaking in freight and Mrs. Weasley beside herself with fury.

"A fine example to set for your children. . ._brawling_ in public. . .**What** Gilderoy Lockhart must've thought -"

"He was pleased," Fred interjected. "Didn't you hear him as we left? He was asking that bloke from the _Daily Prophet_ if he'd be able to work the fight into his report - said it was all publicity -"

However, we were a subdued group as we headed back to the fireside in the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry, the Weasleys and I, along with all our shopping would be travelling back to the Burrow using Floo Powder. We said goodbye to the Grangers, who were leaving the pub for the Muggle street on the other side; Mr. Weasley started to ask them how bus stops worked, but one look from Mrs. Weasley stopped him.

Harry and I were sure to take off our glasses before we used the Floo Powder as neither of us wanted them to break. This definitely wasn't our favorite way to travel.


	5. Train Ride

**Chapter Five**

**Train Ride**

The end of our summer vacation came too quickly for either my or Harry's liking. We were looking forward to getting back to Hogwarts, but our month at the Burrow had been the happiest of our lives. It was really difficult not to feel jealous of Ron when we thought of the Dursleys and the kind of welcome we'd expect when we next turned up on Privet Drive.

On our final evening, Mrs. Weasley conjured up a sumptuous dinner that included all of my and Harry's favorite foods, ending with a mouthwatering treacle pudding. Fred and George rounded off the evening with a display of Filibuster fireworks, which filled the kitchen with red and blue stars that bounded from ceiling to wall for a good half hour. Then, it was time for a last mug of hot chocolate and bed.

The next morning was hectic. We were up at dawn, but it somehow seemed like we still had a great deal to do. Mrs. Weasley dashed about in a really bad mood looking for spare socks and quills; everyone kept colliding on the stairs, half-dressed with bits of toast in their hands; and Mr. Weasley almost broke his neck, tripping over a stray chicken as he crossed the yard carrying Ginny's trunk to the car.

Neither Harry nor I could see how nine people, seven large trunks, three owls, and a rat were going to fit into one small Ford Angelia. We had reckoned, of course, without the special features that Mr. Weasley had added.

"Not a word to Molly," he whispered to Harry and I as he opened the trunk and showed us how it had been magically expanded so that the luggage fit easily.

When we were all finally in the car, Mrs. Weasley glanced into the back seat, where Harry, Ron, Percy, George, Fred and I sat comfortably side by side, and said, "Muggles _do_ know more than we give them credit for, don't they?" She and Ginny got into the front seat, which was stretched so that it was the length of a park bench. "I mean, you'd _never _know it was this roomy from the outside, would you?"

Mr. Weasley started up the engine and we trundled out of the yard, Harry and I turning back for a last look at the house. We barely had time to wonder when we'd see it again when we were back - George had forgotten his box of Filibuster fireworks. Five minutes later, we skid to a halt in the yard so Fred could run inside for his broomstick. We were almost on the highway when Ginny shrieked that she'd left her diary. By the time she'd clambered back into the car, we were running very late, and tempers were running high.

Mr. Weasley glanced at his watch, then at his wife.

"Molly, dear -"

"No, Arthur -"

"No one would see - this little button here is an Invisibility Booster I installed - that'd get us up in the air - then we can fly above the clouds. We'd be there in ten minutes and no one would be any the wiser -"

"I said _no_, Arthur, not in broad daylight -"

We reached King's Cross at a quarter to eleven. Mr. Weasley dashed across the street to get trolleys for our trunks and we all hurried inside.

Harry and I had caught the Hogwarts Express the year before. The tricky part was getting onto platform nine and three-quarters, which was not visible to the Muggle eye. What we needed to do was walk through the solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. It didn't hurt, but it had to be done carefully so that none of the Muggles noticed us vanishing.

"Percy first," Mrs. Weasley said, looking nervously at the clock overhead, which showed we only had five minutes to disappear casually throguh the barrier.

Percy strode briskly forward and vanished. Mr. Weasley motioned me forward and I moved quickly after him, telling Harry and Ron I'd be waiting on the train with Hermione. Mr. Weasley and I disappeared through the barrier and under the wrought iron gate that told us that this was platform nine and three-quarters. Fred and George followed us. They quickly motioned me toward the train, saying we needed to hurry. I hesitated only a moment, wanting to wait for Harry, but Mr. Weasley promised he'd catch up and shooed us away. I quickly followed the twins through the crowd until Hermione stepped in our path and pointed out where she'd found an empty compartment just as Lee Jordan appeared. Fred asked his friend to take his stuff and helped Hermione and I get my trunk into our compartment, handed Elon in, then turned to rejoin his brother and friend in pulling their stuff onto the train. I offered to help, but he waved it off.

"Thanks Chey, but we got this and I don't want you hurting yourself. Go relax and wait for Harry and Ron." He leaned forward and I felt his lips brush against my cheek, leaving a light kiss. He leaned back again, smirked, then took off down the train corridor. I stared after him, memorized, until Hermione pulling me into our compartment jolted me out of it and I silently took the other empty seat next to the window, gently touching the spot where Fred had kissed me with the very tips of my fingers. I couldn't believe he'd actually kissed me on the cheek.

"I wonder where Harry and Ron are, we're about to depart," I blinked at my best friend's words, the fog clearing from my brain as I looked out the window at the thick crowd of parents packed on the platform, waving and saying their final goodbyes to their children; several mothers were crying and wiping the tears from their eyes; fathers were smiling proudly and yelling out a few final words to their kids, reminding them to stay safe and keep out of trouble. The only bright orange hair I saw was that of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who were saying their final goodbyes to Ginny, who looked really nervous and excited at the same time. However, there was not a single sign of Harry's familiar untidy black hair. That worried me, as I knew it didn't take long to get through the barrier and he'd have already found his way to the compartment, to join Hermione and I. Even if we weren't blood related, we had a strong connection that twins usually only had, a bond we'd formed over the years of being the only ones there for the other and one that couldn't easily be broken, no matter the events in our lifes.

I didn't have long to dwell on this as the shrill sound of the whistle sounded and the train jerked sharply under us as it ground into motion. The train started to move out of the station and I leaned my head against the window to watch the Weasleys disappear, waving in goodbye to them until we turned a corner and the station was gone.

The compartment door slid open and I turned eagerly to see who it was, but only found Ginny, Fred and Neville Longbottom, a round-faced, accident prone boy in the same year as Harry, Ron, Hermione and I. Ginny and Neville asked if they could sit with us and we both nodded. Hermione and Ginny helped Neville get his trunk into the storage rack while I helped Fred with Ginny's. Once everything and everyone was settled in their place, Fred said he was going back to George and Jordan, said his goodbyes and left us to enjoy the train ride. I hurried after him, telling Hermione I'd be right back.

"Fred! Fred, wait!" I called, catching up to him just as we crossed into another car. He smiled, cocking his head, curiously, to the side.

"What's the matter? Are you all right, Chey?" he asked, an undertone of worry in his voice despite the casual smile on his face. He reached out and touched my forehead to check for fever. My heart fluttered at his warm touch. I peered at him from under my bangs, fightning to keep the blush from my cheeks, "I'm fine. I - I wanted to thank you earlier for your help and ask if you've seen Harry or Ron? We couldn't see them in the station and Hermione and I were worried that they could've missed the train."

The smile disappeared and was replaced by a deep frown that caused wrinkles to crease deeply in Fred's forehead. "No, I haven't seen either of them since we separated going through the barrier. But, I'm sure they got onto the train just fine and ar just in one of the compartments or are hiding in the baggage cart. Come on, I'll help you look for them. Let's go tell George and Lee Jordan; the more people looking the better our chances are of finding them." he motioned down the corridor and I followed him to the compartment he shared with his twin and their best friend. As soon as Fred slid open the door and let me inside, the two boys ceased their talking and looked at the two of us, at each other, then at us again, smirks appearing on their faces. I took a seat next to George, folding my hands in my lap. Jordan leaned toward me, an eyebrow raised and a mischievious gleam in his eyes.

"I see Fred finally plucked up the courage to put himself out there. I saw him helping you earlier, but wasn't sure whether he told you he fancies -" "I do not! Jordan, just put a Quaffle in it!" I jumped at the tone in Fred's voice and saw his face was as red as his hair. My face was surprisingly hot too. "Listen, Chey hasn't seen Harry or Ron since before we went through the barrier and she hadn't been able to find either of them since. She asked me to help look through the train for them and we wondered of you'd help; the more people we have searching, the better our results should be."

George cocked his head, "That _is _curious. Normally Harry and Cheyenne aren't a part for very long, or, at least, that's what I've noticed. You two are normally stuck together like, well, Fred and I." He stood, stretched and smirked, "I'm in. Maybe if we find time we can prank some of the Slytherins." He said. Lee Jordan chuckled and got up, agreeing to help us. I stood too, thanking them as we split up the sections of the train to search. Lee and George decided to search the upper half of the train while Fred and I searched the lower half. We left the compartment and split into our groups and went to search the train. Fred and I searched each car, being sure to stop at each compartment and ask if anyone had seen Harry or Ron. We met a few Gryffindors while we searched and they offered to keep an eye out for the boys. I thanked them before continuing our search.

My stomach twisted and my heart lurched as the worry built inside me, threatening to spill over by the time we reached my compartment again, and looked inside. Ginny was talking animatedly with Neville, who was trying to keep Trevor, his pet toad, on the seat next to him. Hermione was reading one of Lockhart's books, only contributing to the conversation when she needed to. I looked up at the racks, only seeing four Hogwarts trunks and the single cage with my midnight black owl, who was asleep with his head under his wing.

With an impatient groan, I hurried off down the thin corridor, asking those in the next compartment if they'd seen Harry or Ron. They said they hadn't, but promised they'd keep an eye out. Before long, we'd looked in every compartment, asked every passenger if they'd seen the boys. Anxiousity twisted at my heart and I was feeling frantic now. Fred had me sit down on a nearby crate to calm down and recollect myself. I'd never been so worried in my life as I was at this very moment. I knew Harry could take care of himself, but like George had said, he and I aren't separated for long and even if we were, we were never far from each other. Not knowing where my life-long best friend was wasn't helping my stress level. Worrying for two people only made things worse. Ron and Hermione were the closest friends we'd had at Hogwarts and knowing one of them was missing along with Harry just made me insane with worry.

"Chey, it's gonna be all right. I'm sure Jordan and George have probably found Ron and Harry. Let's go back to the compartment and ask them. The woman with the trolley should be coming around soon, so how's about I get you some pumpkin juice and some pumpkin pasties? I know they're your favorite. . . ." I lifted my head from my hands and sniffled, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. Fred smiled softly at me, gently wiping the tears building at the corners of my eyes. I gave a weak smile, letting Fred take my hand and lead the way out of the baggage cart and back to his compartment. I dragged my feet behind him and he stopped for a moment.

"Come here, Chey," He said, bringing me closer and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. I leaned my head tiredly against his shoulder and we continued forward. We were almost there when our path was blocked by three familiar figures. It was Malfoy with his mean-looking and stupid bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy was smirking.

"Looks like we found a couple of lovebirds, boys. We heard Potter and his little sidekick, Weasley, were missing. What did you do, Power, give them to the Dark Lord so he'd spare you and you'd be able to be with ginger over here?" Malfoy's drawling voice gritted unforgivably on my frayed nerves and I narrowed my eyes on the blond boy.

"Leave her alone, Malfoy. It's been an exhausting experience for Cheyenne. She's worried about Harry and Ron and she doesn't want to have to deal with you. Just take your bodyguards and go torture yourselves." Fred said, adjusting his grip on my shoulders, making sure I stayed upright. Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Fred, "This isn't any of your business, Weasley, and I was only talking to Power here. Besides, you're not her boyfriend, so you have no say in this. Your opinion here is as invalid as your father's is in the Ministry -" That was what did it. With a snarl like a wild cat, I flung myself at Malfoy, taking him to the floor.

"Cheyenne!" Fred said in surprise as I got in a couple of good hits on Malfoy, leaving bruises on his cheeks and causing blood to gush from his nose and newly busted lip. A couple of hands grabbed my arms, dragging me off the pale boy and throwing me roughly against the wall. I glared out from under my bangs at Crabbe, who raised his fist in preparation to strike as Goyle was helping Malfoy up and hurrying him back to their compartment. Fred caught Crabbe's fist and bent his wrist back, making the boy yelp, jerk his hand back and run off after his friends. Fred turned to me.

"Chey, are you all right? That was brilliant!" He said with a wide grin. He gently helped me to my feet and walked me toward the compartment again. As we arrived, Jordan slid the door open and told us a car was flying overhead. Realization pierced my heart as I glanced quickly at Fred before bolting into the compartment and going to the window. Neat fields flashed past the glass, revealing farms and animals grzing on the green grass. I lifted my eyes past the dark blue, snow capped mountains and toward the cyan blue sky. There, just dipping below the fluffy white clouds, the familiar shape of Mr. Weasley's enchanted Fort Anglia was glinting brightly against the white and blue sky, the sun glinting perfectly overhead.

"The - the car? Ha - Harry - Ron! - Car! They're in the ca-R!" I wasn't fully in control of my voice and it kept going up and down the scale, peaking continually at the highest note, which caused my voice to squeak painfully. "_They're taking the ca-R!" _Fred quickly moved me away from the window and sat me in a seat as far from the window as he could. He told George and Jordan to close the shade as he tried to calm me down. He got me to breath deeply and let me lay down on the seat. When the witch with the trolley came, Fred got me some pumpkin pasties and juice and helped me to sit up to drink some of the juice, but I wasn't hungry and just lay back down right after.

"All right, Cheyenne, all right. Just remain calm. It's going to be fine." Fred picked my head up and sat down, letting my head rest on his lap as he rubbed it with light fingers, smoothing the hair out of my face. I kept taking deep breathes, relaxing at the soothing feel of Fred playing with my hair and rubbing my forehead. For whatever reason, the gentle strokes on my head really seemed to sooth me and before I knew it, the stress and anxiousy that had built up in me mixed with the relaxtion I now felt became too much and I fell into a deep sleep, feeling safe here with Fred watching over me.

The next thing I knew, I was being awakened by Fred and the shrill sound of the train's breaks drowned out his soft voice. I groaned in resistance, but my eyes fluttered open and gazed immediately into Fred's warm dark brown eyes. I smiled and stretched, careful of not hurting him as I did so, and sat up slowly, running a hand through my slightly messy hair as I gazed about the compartment.

"We're just arriving at the station, Cheyenne. Are you feeling all right, now?" Fred asked worriedly as the train slowed to a stop with a hiss. I blinked, wondering what he was talking about until the events of the day rushed back into the forefront of my mind. The peace and happiness was quickly replaced by worry and anxiousity. My eye twitched and I tensed up. Fred instantly tried to calm me down, "It's all right Cheyenne, it's all right. Harry and Ron are probably waiting up at the school for us and they're probably fine," I could hear other students moving through the corridor to exit the train as the conductor's voice rang through the train, reminding us to leave our trunks and things on the train, that they would be brought up to the school separately. I chewed the inside of my cheek, giving a small nod. Fred gently took my hand again and led me off the train and onto the small, dark platform. George and Jordan were waiting for us, watching Fred and I as he continued to try and keep me calm. I took a deep, calming breath, the cool night air soothing my throat and lungs and causing my feelings to smooth out even farther. "All right . . .let's get going." I said, smiling thankfully at each boy in turn, pausing at Fred a moment longer before we all followed the thick crowd moving off the platform and onto the path leading to the carriages that would bring us up to Hogwarts. Hagrid's booming voice sounded from behind us, calling for the first years. I thought of Ginny and hoped she would be all right.

"Cheyenne, there you are!" Hermione's voice touched my ear drum and I turned my head just a second before she pushed her way over, "I was really worried when you didn't come back from talking to Fred, then George came and explained what happened. How are you feeling?" She asked, walking with me and the boys. I smiled tiredly, "I'm fine Hermione. Fred helped calm me down when we couldn't find Harry or Ron. I'm grateful he, George and Jordan tried to help though." I looked ahead of us at the trio, who were walking several paces before us, my eyes training on Fred, who was on the far left. Hermione noticed my gaze and I felt her nudge me. "So, you and Fred are getting pretty close. Do you think he'll ask you out?" I didn't miss the gleam in her eyes as my face warmed. I quickly shook my head, "I don't think so, Hermione. I mean. . .I'd hoped, but I don't think Fred likes me like tha -!" We'd reached the path outside the station where a line of carriages was parked. Out in front of each carriage. . .was nothing? But. . .it looked as though there'd be enough room for a horse.

I blinked in confusion and followed Fred, George, Jordan and Hermione to the nearest carriage. Neville managed to catch up to us as we were climbing into the black carriage, settling into the plush black seats. There was a few minutes of confusion as we all tried to get comfortable. When we finally settled, the seating arrangement wasn't exactly what we expected.

In the mild confusion, Fred had been separated from George and Lee Jordan, who'd taken a seat behind the driver with Hermione while I'd been squashed awkwardly between Fred and Neville. I shifted uncomfortably, which squashed me farther against Fred's side. As the carriage started forward, the rocking motion didn't help with my current situation and I tried to ignore the discomfort continuing to grow between myself and the boy I had a crush on, who was currently the one I was being crushed **against**. Well, the bad things of the day just didn't seem to want to stop as of yet.

In an effort to distract myself, I let my mind wonder back toward Harry and Ron. I dearly hoped Fred was right and that the boys were at the school all ready and that they were safe. I even began to wonder why in Merlin's Beard the two of them hadn't taken the train with the rest of us. Were they trying to show off or get a thrill from this? But. . .I'd known Harry for the whole of our lives and I knew that he wouldn't do something like this without a _really _good reason. So why. . .?

"Hey, uh, Cheyenne. . .? We're at the castle, so. . ." Fred's voice cut through my thoughts and I blinked in surprise, watching as Neville stepped out of the carriage, leaving Fred and I alone inside. My face burned and I jumped away from him, "So - sorry! I - I didn't. . .Oh, look, a thingie over there. . ." I climbed quickly out of the carriage, the cool air feeling good against my hot face. I hurried away from the carriage in Hermione's direction. She'd stopped outside the tall wooden doors that served as the entrance to talk with a couple of girls in the same house and year as us. They greeted me, asking if I'd found Ron and Harry. I told them I regrettably had not, but thanked them for their concern, then followed them inside. Hermione stopped me as soon as we got inside and had reached the top of the marble staircase. She took me aside, fixing me with a worried/stern look.

"Cheyenne, are you sure you're all right? I know how much you care about Harry and I want to make sure you're feeling well. . ." At the mention of our lost friend, I blinked and looked around, disappointment flooding me at seeing that neither Harry nor Ron were here. "Chey?"

"I'm fine. . .still just a little worried. . ." I said, giving her a weak smile. She smiled back for a second before she said, "Uh, oh, I almost forgot," Pulling a nearly folded robe from within her own she handed it to me, "Here. You were sleeping for most of the trip and worried half to death while still awake, so you forgot to put your robe on. I took one from your trunk just in case." With a jolt I realized she was right and, grinning sheepishly, took my robe, "Thanks Hermione, you're the best. I'm going to go put this on. Please, save me a seat?" She nodded and, blending into the crowd again, disappeared.

I watched her disappear, then, once I was sure no teachers were around, I dashed across the entrance hall and took the stairs two at a time to the second floor, where I knew the closest bathroom was. Once inside, I didn't even bother to find a stall as I slipped my jacket off right away before sliding the familiar black robe over my head, sighing at the cool feel of the material. It felt nice to once again be wearing my school uniform and to be back in the castle. I was home. . . but. . .not everything was whole yet. It didn't feel completely like home without Harry here. Fixing my tie messily, I made sure I looked all right in the mirror before I started out of the room, my jacket slung over my arm casually.

I was just out the door when I thought I heard a commotion down the hall to my left. _(Peeves. . .he never learns. . . .) _I thought, rolling my eyes at the thought of the school's poltergist. Not wanting to get caught up in any sort of prank the ghost was playing, I turned and walked briskly in the direction I had come, hoping, at least, that Harry and Ron were already there. No such luck.

I was sitting at the Gryffindor House table before I knew it, my jacket folded across my lap with not hide nor hair of neither boy in sight. My stomach twisted painfully and I silently laid my head on the table to rest it, my eyes closed and my breath flowing from my nose as I prayed for the boys' safety. Only vaguely hearing what was going on around me, I was surprised when Hermione shook me and pointed out some teachers missing from the High Table. I lifted my gaze to the long wooden table that was used as the eating place for the teachers to find she was right; Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall and Snape weren't in their normal places. I wondered where our headmaster, Transfiguration and Potions' teachers had gone. Hermione pointed out that perhaps Harry and Ron had arrived and the three teachers had probably gone to attend to them. A relieved sigh escaped me at that.

"I just hope they're not hurt." I whispered to myself, looking around at the students around me. I was happy to see Ginny had been placed in Gryffindor like the rest of her family. Farther down the table, I could see the twins talking with Lee Jordan along with some older Gryffindors. I could see them laughing and exchanging jokes. Somehow, I wished I was over there, being a part of the laughter and sharing jokes with them, especially Fred.

As soon as I thought of the boy, it almost seemed as though he read my mind because his dark brown eyes lifted, connecting with mine. I froze, my breath catching in my throat at his stare. The rest of the world melted away around us, making it feel as though we were the only ones there.

"Chey? Cheyenne, Dumbledore's back." Hermione's voice broke the illusion as I felt her gently shaking my shoulder. Blinking rapidly, heat touched my cheeks and I quickly tore my gaze from his, lifting my eyes to the table at the front of the dining hall. The familiar silvery white of our headmaster's long, flowing beard instantly caught my attention and I focused on him, seeing the disappointment etched into his features. That was all the indication I needed to know that the boys were here. I sighed in relief, smoothing some hair from my face, and lowered my gaze some. Something out of the corner of my eye caused me to turn my head. Fred was still watching me with that same concerened and quizzitive look. I smiled softly at him, hoping to sooth the concern in his eyes. He smiled back, looking a little hesitent, but smiling all the same. George pulled his attention from me, telling him Dumbledore was saying something important. I looked at our headmaster again as he just finished speaking and clapped his hands, indicating we could begin the feast.

The once empty platters in front of us filled with food, from apples and corn to turkey. I helped myself to some ham, mashed potatoes, corn and cranberry sauce, along with a goblet of pumpkin juice and began to eat. Hermione and I chatted excitedly about our classes this year, wondering what we would be learning. I enjoyed our conversation until she started talking excitedly about Lockhart being our new teacher. I admit, he was an interesting bloke, but just because I found his stories enjoyable didn't mean I was entranced by him. She continued talking about him through dinner, then dessert.

When I was about ready for a change in topic, Dumbledore saved me by standing to make a few last minute announcements before he sent us off to bed. Feeling warm and sleepy, I listened half-heartedly to what he was saying, giving a sigh when he finished. As I moved to get up, Hermione stopped me.

"Should we go look for the boys now?" She asked. I was confused by her words and went to ask what she was talking about when I remembered and nodded. "Yes, we should, to make sure they're all right. Let's just let things clear a little so we won't have to fight a crowd." She nodded in agreement. We saw back to wait for the other students to clear the Great Hall and corridors some before we stood and started out, heading upstairs to check hiding places and classrooms to find our friends. However, as we were starting up the marble staircase after a few students lagging behind their houses, a familiarly stern voice stopped us and we turned.

"Power, Granger. I need to speak with you both." It was Professor McGonagall, our Transfiguration teacher and the head of Gryffindor House. She was a very strict witch with her light brown, grayish hair always made up in a bun, a thin face with thin white lips and small, oval shaped spectecles. She was wearing robes of gold and scarlet, almost like she was representing her House through her wizarding garments.

Peering quickly at each other, Hermione and I stepped off the stairs to face her, "Is something wrong, Professor McGonagall? We were just -"

"I know _exactly_ what you were doing, Miss Power," She cut in quickly, fixing me with a serious look. "It is not hard to see how attached you are to Potter and how worried you get when you do not know where he is. I know you and Miss Granger are trying to conduct a search to find your missing friends, but I can assure you they're not in the general direction you are heading." She must've seen the worried/scared looks on our faces because she quickly said, "Potter and Weasley are fine, but they are in a classroom by themselves for now because I did not want them making a big commotion when they arrived. Any way, they'll find their way back to the common roon on their own, so I don't want you two wondering around looking for them; we cannot have students wondering the corridors this late at night. Now, off you go, straight to the Gryffindor Tower with you." Her stern gaze left no room for arguement as she shooed us away. Hermione and I glanced at each other, shrugged, then made our way upstairs. We didn't speak until Professor McGonagall was out of earshot and we were taking a longer route to Gryffindor Tower, hoping to spot the boys on our way as we talked about the day's events.

Before too long, we were climbing the last few flights of stairs leading to the Gryffindor Tower when we heard a couple of familiar voices and looked up. The familiar figures of Harry and Ron stood before the oil painting of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress that served as the secret entrance to the tower.

"Harry! Ron!" I called as I quickened my pace and hugged them each in turn. Ron seemed taken a back by the guesture while Harry was empathtic, apologizing for worrying me, but promising he'd explain everything. I could hear Hermione starting to lecture them for scaring us when she was interrupted. By saying the password to get into the tower, she caused the Fat Lady to swing herself open, which in turn resulted in a sudden storm of applause to come from inside. It appeared as though the whole Gryffindor House was still awake and packed tightly into the circular room, some standing on the squashy armchairs and lopsided tables, waiting for Harry and Ron to arrive. Before I had a chance to react, arms had reached through the portrait hole and grabbed the boys, pulling them inside with me still hanging onto Harry. Hermione scrambled in after us.

"Brilliant!" Lee Jordan yelled as soon as we were inside. "Inspired! What an entrance! Flying a car right into the Whomping Willow, people'll be talking about that one for years -"

"Good for you," a fifth year neither Harry nor I had spoken to said to him as I managed to pry myself off him in the tight space. Fred and George pushed their way over and said in unison, "Why didn't you invite us, eh?" I could see Ron was now scarlet in the face, grinning embarrassedly, but Harry pointed out someone who didn't look the least bit happy. Percy was visibile over the heads of some really excited first years and it looked as though he was trying to get near enough to start telling Harry and Ron off. Harry quickly nudged Ron in the ribs, and pointed out the angry prefect with a nod of his head. Ron got his point at once.

"Got to get upstairs - bit tired," Ron said, and the two of them started pushing their way toward the door on the other side of the room, which led to the spiral staircase that led to the dormitories.

" 'Night, I'll explain things tomorrow," Harry called back to Hermione and I as he and Ron disappeared.

I could hear everyone whispering excitedly about Harry and Ron as I made my way over to Hermione, who was wearing a scowl identical to that of Percy's.

"Those two are just _unbelieveable!_ They could have gotten themselves _killed _by arriving how they did." Hermione said once I'd reached her and started herding her in the direction of our own dormitory. "And it was really _unfair_ of Harry to worry you like he did. I mean, you were_ frantic_ when you knew he wasn't on the train and what if he'd _died!_ He had no right doing that to you, especially with how you both lose your _parents!_" She ranted angrily as we followed our own spiral staircase to our dormitory. We reached the door easily, a sign reading **SECOND YEARS **pinned to the wood, and stepped into the circular room, the familiar five poster beds set up around the room. The normal red velvet was draped over the beds and the familiar high, narrow windows were stationed across from the door. Our trunks had already been brought up and waited for us at the end of our beds. Elon's empty cage was placed carefylly next to one of the windows, and I guessed he was probably in the owlry with Hedwig, or out hunting. Hermione continued to rant as we changed for bed.

I finally sighed, "Hermione, we both know what they did was wrong, but there's nothing we can do about it now, and I know I was worried when we couldn't find Harry or Ron, but it's all fine now. And we both _know _those two, so don't you think they'd have a **reason** for doing what they did? Harry promised he'd explain _everything _tomorrow, so we should at least hear his side of the story before we jump to conclusions." I raised an eyebrow at her as I pulled on my pajamas and undid my blankets before climbing into bed, one of Lockhart's books tucked under my arm.

Hermione watched me with surprised eyes as I covered myself and settled back into my pillow to read before bed. The feel of the familiar blanket relaxed me and I gave another soft sigh. She sighed herself, "Fine, we'll wait to hear their side of the story tomorrow, but I still disapprove of what they did." She said stubbornly as she got into bed as well and got herself comfortable, "Don't be up too late. Tomorrow starts a new term." She said, rolling onto her side, her back to me.

"All right. 'Night, Hermione." I said, getting interested in the book I was reading. It wasn't long until I grew too tired to continue and fell asleep halfway through the chapter. It felt good to be back.


	6. Gilderoy Lockhart

**Chapter Six**

**Gilderoy Lockhart**

The next day could have gone better. Things seemed to worsen starting with breakfast in the Great Hall, especially for Harry. Beneathe the enchanted ceiling, which was a dull, cloudy gray, the four long house tables were laden with turuens of porridge, plates of kippers, mountions of toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon. Harry and Ron joined Hermione and I at the Gryffindor House table, Hermione reading her copy of _Voyages with Vampires, _which was propped open against a milk jug. She greeted them with only a slight stiffness in her voice, which clearly told the boys she was still disapproving of the way they'd arrived yesterday. Neville, on the other hand, greeted the two cheerfully.

"Mail's due any minute - I think Gran's sending a few things I'd forgotten."

Harry had just settled down to eat his porridge and explain the events of yesterday when, sure enough, there was a rushing sound overhead and a hundred or more owls streamed in, circling the hall and dropping letters and packages into the chattering crowd. A big, lumpy package bounded off Neville's head and, a second later, something large and grey fell into Hermione's jug, spraying us all with milk and feathers.

"Errol!" Ron said, pulling the bedraggled owl out by his feet. Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a dampened red envelope in his beak.

"Oh, no -" Ron gasped.

"It's all right, he's still alive," Hermione said, prodding Errol gently with the top of her finger.

"It's not that - it's _that_."

Ron was pointing at the red envelope. It looked quite ordinary to Harry, Hermione and I, but Ron and Neville were both looking at it as though they thought it was going to explode.

"What's the matter?" Harry and I asked.

"She - she's sent me a Howler," Ron said faintly.

"You'd better open it, Ron," Neville said in a very timid whisper. "It'll be worse if you don't. My Gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and -" he gulped - "it was horrible."

Harry and I glanced at each other, then looked at the boys' petrified faces and finally at the red envelope.

"What's a Howler?" We asked.

But Ron's whole attention was fixed on the letter, which had begun to smoke at the corners.

"Open it," Neville urged. "It'll be over in a few minutes -"

Ron stretched out a quivering hand, eased the envelope from Errol's beak, and slit it open. Neville stuffed his fingers into his ears. It only took a split second before Harry and I knew why. We both thought for a moment that the letter _had _exploded; a roar of sound filled the huge hall, shaking dust from the ceiling and causing me to topple backwards off the bench in utter surprise.

**"STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT UNTIL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE -"**

Mrs. Weasley's yells, now a hundred times louder than usual, made the plates and spoons sing with their vibrations as the tables rattled and the walls vibrated as the echos blasted deafeningly off the stone. I could see people at the neighboring tables swiveling around to find the source of the noise, and Ron sank so low in his chair that only his crimson forehead could be seen.

**"LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED -"**

I'd wondered when Harry would be mentioned, I was trying to ignore the echoing voice that was making my head throb painfully.

**"AND DID EITHER OF YOU THINK ABOUT HOW CHEYENNE WOULD REACT, SHE'S LUCKY SHE DIDN'T GET HERSELF DRAGGED INTO THAT - I AM ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED - YOU'RE FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT HOME!"**

A ringing silence fell. The red envelope, which had dropped from Ron's hand, burst into flames, and curled into ashes. While Harry and Ron sat in stunned silence, I pulled myself off the floor and onto my feet, straightning myself out. I could hear a few people laughing and whispering until, gradually, the normal babble of talk resumed throughout the hall.

Hermione closed _Voyages with Vampires _with a snap and looked down at the top of Ron's head.

"Well Ron, I don't know what you expect, but you -"

"Don't tell me I deserved it," Ron snapped.

I noticed Harry push his porridge away and I didn't miss the guilty look he was wearing. He was probably feeling bad about what he'd done, especially after what Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had done for us this summer.

However, before I could say or do anything to comfort him, we noticed Professor McGonagall moving along the Gryffindor Table, handing out course schedules. Harry and I took ours and saw that we had double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs first.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I left the castle together, crossed the vegetable patch, and made our way to the greenhouses, where the school's magical plants were kept. One good thing that came out of that Howler: Hermione was now speaking to the boys again. Apparently, she thought the Howler was punishment enough.

As we neared the greenhouses we saw the rest of the class standing outside, waiting for Professor Sprout. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I had only just joined everyone when she came striding into view across the lawn, accopmanied by Gilderoy Lockhart. Bandages were piled in Professor Sprout's arms, and in the distance we could see the Whomping Willow with several of its' branches now in slings.

Professor Sprout was a squat little witch who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair; there was usually a large amount of earth on her clothes and her fingernails would have made Aunt Petunia faint. Lockhart, however, was dashing in sweeping robes of turquoise, his golden hair shining under a perfectly placed turquoise hat with gold trimming.

"Oh, hello there!" he called, beaming around at our assembled class. "Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don't want you all running away with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels. . ."

"Greenhouse three today, chaps!" Professor Sprout said, who was looking unusually disgruntled, not at all her usual cheerful self.

A murmur of interest swept through the class. We had only ever worked in greenhouse one before - greenhouse three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. We caught a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling. Harry and I started to follow Ron and Hermione inside when Lockhart stopped us.

"Harry, Cheyenne! I've been wanting a word - you don't mind if they're a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?"

Judging by Professor Sprout's scowl, she **did **mind, but Lockhart said, "That's the ticket!" and closed the greenhouse door in her face.

"Harry," Lockhart said, his large white teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he shook his head at Harry. "Harry, Harry, Harry."

Completely nonplussed, Harry and I glanced at each other and said nothing.

"When I heard - well, of course, it was all my fault. Could have kicked myself."

Neither of us had _any _idea what he was talking about. Harry was about to say so when Lockhart went on, "Don't know when I've been more shocked. Flying a car to Hogwarts! Well, of course, I knew at once why you'd done it. Stood out a mile. Harry, Harry, _Harry_."

It was truly a wonder how he was able to show every last one of his brilliant teeth even when he wasn't talking.

"Gave you a taste for publicity, didn't I?" Lockhart said. "Gave you the _bug_. You and Cheyenne got onto the front page of the paper with me and _you _couldn't wait to do it again."

"Oh, no, Professor -"

"Harry, Harry, Harry," Lockhart interrupted, reaching out and grasping Harry's shoulder. "I _understand_. It's naural to want a bit more once you've had that first taste -" He looked at me then, a knowing twinkle in his eyes that made me feel acutely uncomfortable, " -and the want to impress girls is also natural. I probably gave you the _love bug _too, for Cheyenne here - and I blame myself for doing that to you before you're ready as it's bound to go to your head - but see here, young man, you can't start _flying _cars to try and get yourself noticed. Just calm down, all right? Plenty of time for all that when you're older. Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking! 'It's all right for him, he's an internationally famous wizard already!' But when I was twelve, I was just as much of a nobodyas you two are now. In fact, I'd say I was even more of a nobody! I mean, a few people have heard of you both, haven't they? All that business with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" He looked at our lightning scars, first Harry's, then mine. "I know, I know - it's not quite as good as winning _Witch Weekly's _ Most Charming-Smile Award five times in a row, as I have - but it's a _start_, Harry, it's a s_tart_."

He gave Harry and I a hearty wink and strode off. Harry stared after him in stunned silence as I glared. 'Mental. . .' I muttered as Harry remembered we needed to be in the greenhouse and gently took my hand before opening the door and tugging me silently after him.

Professor Sprout stood in the center of the greenhouse behind a trestle bench. About twenty pairs of different-colored earmuffs were lying on the bench. When Harry and I had taken our place between Ron and Hermione, she said, "We'll be repotting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?"

My free hand shot into the air at the same time as Hermione's. Harry was still holding my other hand.

"Mandrake," "or Mandragora is a powerful restorative," Hermione and I recited what we read together perfectly, sounding like we'd swallowed the textbook and as though we had practiced speaking in unison. "It is used to return people who have been transfigured, cursed or petrified to their original state."

"Excellent. Twenty points to Gryffindor," Professor Sprout said. "Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young."

She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke, and we all shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tutfy little plants, purplish green in color, were growing there in straight rows. They looked quite unremarkable, but Hermione and I knew what was hidden in the soil and we knew exactly what Mandrake 'cry' meant.

"Everyone take a pair of earmuffs," Professor Sprout instructed.

There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that wasn't pink and fluffy.

"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are _completely _covered," Professor Sprout said. "When it's safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right - earmuffs on!"

Snapping my earmuffs into place, I made sure my ears were completely covered and was impressed at how well they shut out noise. Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair on over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled, hard.

Just like the picture in our Herbology book, the roots of the Mandrake were in the shape of a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby with the leaves growing straight out of its head. It was pale green, and looked to be bawling at the top of its lungs.

Taking a large plant pot from under the table, Professor Sprout plunged the Mandrake into it, burying it in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave us all the thumbs-up, and removed her own earmuffs.

"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill you yet," she said calmly, as though what she'd just done was no more exciting than watering a house plant, "However, they _will _knock you out for several hours, and as I'm sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it's time to pack up."

"Now, four to a tray - there is a large supply of pots here - compost in the sacks over there - and be careful of the Venemous Tentacula, it's teething."

As though to emphaise her point, she gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant whose long feelers had been inching sneakily over her shoulder. The plant grew it's feelers back immideiately.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I took one tray and a curly-haired Hufflepuff boy got a tray right next to us. Harry and I knew him by sight but we'd never spoken to him before.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," he said brightly, shaking the two of us by the hand. "Know who you two are, of course, the famous P team, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power. . . .And you're Hermione Granger - you and Miss Power are always top in everything." (I blushed and Hermione beamed as her hand was shaken too) "- and Ron Weasley. Wasn't that your flying car?"

Ron didn't smile and we could tell the Howler was still on his mind.

"That Lockhart's something, isn't he?" Justin said happily as we began filling our plant pots with dragon dung compost. "Awfully brave chap. Have you read his books? I'd have died of fear if I'd been cornered in a telephone booth by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and - ZAP - just _fantastic._"

"My name was down for Eton, you know, I can't tell you how _glad _I am I came here instead. Of course, Mother was a little disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart's books I think she's begun to see how useful it'll be to have a fully trained wizard in the family. . . ."

We didn't have much time for talk after that as we put our earmuffs back on and had to concentrate on the Mandrakes. What Professor Sprout had done made it look easy, but actually it wasn't. The Mandrakes didn't seem to like coming out of the earth or going back in it either. They squirmed, kicked, flaited their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth; I spent ten whole minutes trying to help Harry squash a particularly fat Mandrake into a pot.

By the end of class, Harry and I, like everyone else, were sweaty, aching, and covered in earth. We all traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash before hurrying off to Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall's class proved to be a challenge, at least for Harry and Ron, but today was especially challenging for them. While Hermione and I procceeded to turn our beetles into buttons, Harry was giving his a workout as it scuttled over the desktop avoiding his wand.

Ron wasn't doing much better as his wand, which had been patched up with some borrowed Spellotape, seemed damaged beyond repair. Crackling and sparking at the oddest moments, the wand would engulf Ron in a thick gray smoke that smelled of rotten eggs everytime he tried to transfigure his beetle. Being unable to see what he was doing, Ron accidently squashed his beetle with his elbow and had to ask for a new one. Professor McGonagall wasn't pleased.

Harry looked relieved to hear the lunch bell and I knew he felt a little overwelmed at the moment. Everyone filed out of the classroom, leaving me alone with Harry and Ron, who was whacking his wand furiously on the desk.

"Stupid - useless - thing -"

"Why not write home for a new one?" Harry and I suggested as the wand let loose a volley of bangs like a firecracker.

"Oh, yeah, and get another Howler back," Ron said, stuffing his now hissing wand into his bag. " '_It's your own fault your wand snapped in half_-' "

We went down to lunch, where Ron's mood only worsened as Hermione showed him and Harry the handful of perfect coat buttons she'd produced in Transfiguration.

"What've we got this afternoon?" Harry said hastily in an effort to change the subject.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Hermione and I said.

"_Why_," Ron demanded, seizing her schedule, "have you outlined all of Lockhart's lessons in little hearts? Cheyenne, give me your schedule,"

Hermione snatched her schedule back, blushing furiously. I shook my head, "No, I didn't do that to my schedule," I let Ron see my schedule to varify what I said. He seemed satisfied and returned his attention to Hermione.

We finished lunch and went outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione sat down on a stone step and buried her nose in _Voyages with Vampires_ again. I listened to Harry and Ron talk about Quidditch for several minutes before Harry and I became aware that we were being closely watched. Looking around, we saw a very small, mousy-haired boy staring at the two of us as though transfixed. He was clutching what looked like an ordinary Muggle camera, and the moment Harry and I spotted him, he went bright red.

"All right, Harry, Cheyenne? I'm - I'm Colin Creevey," he said breathlessly, taking a careful step forward. "I'm in Gryffindor, too. D'you think - would it be all right if - can I have a picture?" he asked, raising the camera hopefully.

"A picture?" We repeated blankly.

"So I can prove I've met you both," Colin Creevey said eagerly, edging forward farther. "I know all about you two. Everyone's told me. About how you both survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you've both still got lightning scars on your foreheads" (his eyes raked each of our hairlines) "and a boy in my dormitory said if I develope the film in the right potion, the picture'll _move_." Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and continued, "It's _amazing_ here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'd be really great if I had one of you two" - he looked hopefully at Harry and I - "maybe one of your friends could take it and I could stand with you two? And then, could you both sign it?"

"_Signed photos? _You're giving out _signed photos, _Powter?"

Loud and drawling, Malfoy's voice echoed around the courtyard. He'd stopped right behind Colin, flanked, like _usual_, by Crabbe and Goyle. I was satisfied to see he still had some bruises from our encounter yesterday.

"Everyone line up!" Malfoy roared to the crowd. "Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power're giving out signed photos!"

"No, we're not!" Harry said angrily, clenching his fists. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"Yeah, or we could have a repeat of yesterday," I said, raising an eyebrow. "I don't think I got the chance to break your nose." Malfoy flinched and took a step back, his eyes narrowed dangerously. Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles menacingly. Harry smirked as Ron snorted in laughter.

"You're just jealous Harry and Cheyenne are famous!" Colin piped up. His whole body was about as thick as Crabbe's neck.

"_Jealous_?" Malfoy said, not needing to shout anymore: half the courtyard was listening in. "Of what? I don't want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself. And besides, I wouldn't want some _girl _hanging on me like she was my mother."

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered stupidly. Harry glared as embarressment flooded me; did I really do that to Harry?

"Eat slugs, Malfoy," Ron said angrily. Crabbe stopped laughing and begn rubbing his knuckles threateningly.

"Be careful, Weasley," Malfoy sneered. "You don't want to start any trouble or your Mommy'll have to come and take you away from school." Hhe put on a shrill, piercing voice. " '_If you put another toe out of line -'_

A group of Slytherin fifth years standing nearby laughed loudly at this.

"Weasley would like a signed photo, Powter," Malfoy smirked. "It'd be worth far more than his family's whole house -"

Ron whipped out his Spellotaped wand, but Hermione shut her book with a snap and whispered, "Look out!"

"What's all this, whay's all this?" Gilderoy Lockhart came striding toward us, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. "Who's giving out signing photos?"

Harry and I opened our mouths to speak when Lockhart flung his arms around our shoulders and thundered happily, "Shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Harry and Cheyenne!"

Pinned to Lockhart's sides and burning with humiliation, Harry and I saw Malfoy slide, smirking, back into the crowd.

"Come on then, Mr. Creevey," Lockhart said, beaming at Colin. "A triple portrait, can't do better than that, and we'll _all _sign it for you."

Colin fumbled for his camera and took the picture as the bell rang behind us, signaling the start of afternoon classes.

"Off you go, move along there," Lockhart called to the crowd before he set off back to the castle with Harry and I still clasped to his sides. I wished I knew a good Vanishing Spell that could get us out of here.

"A word to the wise, you two," Lockhart said as we entered the building through a side door. "I covered up for you two back there with young Creevey - if he was photographing me, too, your classmates won't think you're setting yourselves up so much. . ."

Deaf to our stammers, Lockhart swept us down a corridor lined with staring students and up a staircase. I blocked out the rest of Lockhart's rants, trying to imagine myself somewhere else.

Soon, we had reached Lockhart's classroom and he let Harry and I go at last. Yanking our robes straight, we took a couple of seats at the very back of the class and busied ourselves with piling all seven of Lockhart's books in front of us to avoid having to look at the real thing.

The rest of the class came clattering in, and Ron and Hermione sat down on either side of Harry and I.

"You could've fried an egg on your faces," Ron said. "You two'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, or they'll be starting a P team fan club."

"Shut up," Harry and I snapped. The last thing we needed was for Lockhart to hear the phrase 'P team fan club.'

As soon as the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of _Travels with Trolls_, and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.

"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's _Most-Charming-Smile Award - but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"

He waited for us to laugh; a couple people smiled weakly.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books - well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about - just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in -"

As soon as he'd finished handing out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, "You have thirty minutes - start - now!"

I stared blankly at my paper for a moment before I read the questions:

_1) What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?_

_2) What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?_

_3) What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?_

The questions continued on for three pages, front to back, with the final question being:

_54) When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?_

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected our papers and rifled through them in front of the class.

"Tut, tut - hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in _Year with the Yeti. _And a few of you need to read _Wandering with Werewolves_ more carefully - I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples - though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky!"

He gave us another roguish wink. Ron was now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face; up in the front, I could see Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas shaking with silent laughter. I felt like I was losing ten IQ points with each passing second in this class. Hermione, on the other hand, was listening to Lockhart with unbreakable focus and gave a start when he mentioned her name.

". . .but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions - good girl! In fact -" he flipped her paper over " - full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Hermione raised a trembling hand.

"Excellent!" Lockhart beamed. "Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And so - to business -"

He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.

"Now - be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."

Harry and I leaned around our piles of books for a better look at the cage. Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Dean and Seamus had stopped laughing now. Neville was cowering in his seat in the front row.

"I must ask you not to scream," Lockhart said in a low voice. "It might provoke them."

As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

"Yes," he said dramatically. "_Freshly caught Cornish Pixies_."

Seamus couldn't control himself. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror.

"Yes?" He smiled at Seamus.

"Well, they're not - they're not very - dangerous, are they?" he choked.

"Don't be so sure!" Lockhart said, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. "Develishly tricky little blighters they can be!"

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

"Right, then," Lockhart said loudly. "Let's see what you make of them!" And he opened the cage.

It was caos. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino. They grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, up-ended the waste basket, grabbed bags and books and threw them out the smashed window; within minutes, half our classes were sheltering under desks and Neville was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling.

"Come on now - round them up, round them up, they're only pixies," Lockhart shouted.

He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed, "Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"

It had absolutely no affect; one of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out the window, too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later as the candelier gave way.

The bell rang and there was a mad rush toward the exit. In the relative calm that follow, Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of Harry, Ron, Hermione and I, who were _almost _at the door, and said, "Well, I'll ask you four to just nip the rest of them back into their cage." And with that he swept past us and shut the door quickly behind him.

"Can you _believe _him?" Ron roared as one of the remaining pixies bit him painfully on the ear.

"He just wants to give us some hands-on experience," Hermione said, immobilizing two pixies at once with a clever Freezing Charm and stuffing them back into their cage.

_"Hands on?" _Harry snapped as he was trying to grab a pixie dancing out of reach with its tongue out. I sighed, "Hermione, Lockhart didn't have a clue what he was doing -"

"Rubbish." Hermione said. "You've read his books - look at all those amazing things he's done -"

"He _says _he's done," Ron muttered.


	7. Mudbloods and Murmurs

**Chapter Seven**

**Mudbloods and Murmurs**

Harry and I spent a lot of our time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever we saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming down a corridor. Harder to avoid was Colin Creevey, who seemed to have memorized both out schedules. Nothing seemed to give Colin a bigger thrill than to say, "All right, Harry, Cheyenne?" six or seven times a day and hear, "Hello, Colin," back, however exasperated we sounded when we said it.

Harry had already explained everything that had happened on the day we took the train to Hogwarts. Apparently, Hedwig was angry with Harry for the rough ride and she wasn't letting up easily. Ron's wand was still malfunctioning, surpassing itself on Friday morning by shooting out of Ron's hand during Charms and hitting tiny old Professor Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck. So with one thing and another, both Harry and I were quite glad to reach the weekend. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. Harry and I, however, were each shaken awake several hours earlier than we would have liked by Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

I groaned sleepily and pulled the covers up over my head, "Go away! It's the weekend!" I protested.

"Cheyenne! Come on, Quidditch practice, now!" Wood's voice reached me and I pulled the coves off my head, squinting at him, "Come on!"

I reached for my glasses on the bedside table and pulled them on as I looked out the window. There was a thin mist hanging across the pink-and-gold sky. Now that I was awake, I couldn't understand how I could have slept through the racket the birds were making.

"Oliver," I mumbled, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "It's the crack of dawn and _why _are you in the girls' dormitory! It's against the rules!" I growled, glaring at him.

"Exactly, it _is _dawn," Wood said. He was a tall and burly sixth year and, at the moment, his eyes were gleaming with a crazed enthusiasm. "It's part of our new training program. Come on, grab your broom, and let's go. I already woke up Harry, so he should be getting ready too," Wood said heartily. "None of the other teams have started training yet; we're going to be first off the mark this year -"

"All right, I get it! Now get out so I can get dressed!" I snapped, kicking the covers off and climbing out of bed. I stretched, cracking my neck and knuckles before pulling out my Quidditch robes.

"Good girl," Wood said. "Meet you on the field in fifteen minutes."

Once I'd dressed in my scarlet team robes and pulled my cloak on for warmth, I quickly wrote a note to Hermione to explain where I was and made my way down the spiral staircase to the common room, my Nimbus Two Thousand on my shoulder. Harry and I had come down at the same second, so we wasted no time in heading out. We had just reached the portrait hole when there was a clatter behind us and Colin Creevey came dashing down the spiral staircase, his camera swinging madly around his neck and something clutched in his hand.

"I heard someone saying your names on the stairs, Harry, Cheyenne! Look what I've got here! I've had it developed, I want to show you both -"

Harry and I looked bemusedly at the photograph Colin was brandishing under our noses.

A moving, black-and-white Lockhart was tugging hard on an arm we recognized as Harry's, with one hand, while his other arm was wrapped around my shoulders. I was trying to run away in the opposite direction and Lockhart looked like he was in pain as he tried to keep a hold on the two of us. Harry and I were pleased to see that our photographic selves were putting up good fights and were refusing to be held captive. As we watched, Lockhart gave up and released us before slumping onto his knees on the ground, panting.

"Will you both sign it?" Colin asked eagerly.

"No," We replied flatly, looking around quickly to check that the room was really deserted. "Sorry, Colin, we're in a hurry - Quidditch practice -"

Harry climbed out of the portrait hole and turned, helping me through.

"Oh, wow! Wait for me! I've never watched a Quidditch game before!"

Colin scrambled through the hole after us.

"It'll be really boring," Harry said quickly, but Colin ignored him, his face shining with excitement. I quickly tapped Harry's shoulder and whispered, "Just let him come, maybe we can lose him afterwards." I whispered. Harry sighed and nodded.

"You're both the youngest House players in a hundred years, weren't you, Harry, Cheyenne? Weren't you?" Colin said, trotting alongside us. "You both must be brilliant. I've never flown. Is it easy? Are those your own brooms? Are they the best ones there is?"

Neither of us knew how to get rid of him. It was like having an extremely talkative shadow.

"I don't really understand Quidditch," Colin said breathlessly. "Is it true there are four balls? And two of them fly around trying to knock people off their brooms?"

"Yes," Harry and I said heavily, resigned to explaining the complicated rules of Quidditch, in turn. "They're called Bludgers. There are two Beaters on each team who carry clubs to beat the Bludgers away from their side. Fred and George Weasley are the Gryffindor Beaters." I smiled at the thought of Fred.

"And what are the other balls for?" Colin asked, tripping down a couple of steps because he was gazing open-mouthed at Harry and I. I quickly caught him, making sure he didn't get hurt before we continued on.

"Well, the Quaffle - that's the biggish red one - is the one that scores goals. Three Chasers on each team throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through the goal posts at the end of the pitch - they're three long poles with hoops on the end."

"And the fourth ball -"

" - is the Golden Snitch," Harry and I said together, "and it's very small, very fast, and difficult to catch. But that's what the Seeker's got to do, because a game of Quidditch doesn't end until the Snitch has been caught. And whichever team's Seeker gets the Snitch earns his team an extra hundred and fifty points."

"And _you're _the Gryffindor Seeker, aren't you?" Colin said in awe of Harry.

"Yes," Harry said as we left the castle and started across the dew-drenched grass. "And there's the Keeper and Helper, too. The Keeper guards the goal posts. The Helper helps the Seeker in finding the Snitch and catching it. If their Seeker sees the Snitch and goes after it, the Helper distracts the other teams Seeker so their Seeker can get the Snitch. That's it, really." Harry looked at me for confirmration. I nodded.

But Colin didn't stop questioning us all the way down the sloping lawns to the Quidditch field, and Harry and I only shook him off when we reached the changing rooms; Colin called after us in a piping voice, "I'll go and get a good seat!" and hurried off to the stands.

The rest of the Gryffindor team were already in the changing room. Wood was the only person who look truly awake. Fred and George were sitting, puffy-eyed and tousle-haired, next to fourth year Alicia Spinnet, who seemed to be nodding off against the wall behind her. Her fellow Chasers, Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson, were yawning side by side opposite us.

"There you two are, Harry, Cheyenne, what kept you?" Wood asked briskly. "Now, I wanted a quick talk with you all before we actually get onto the field, because I sent the summer devising a whole new training program, which I really think will make all the difference. . . ."

Wood was holding up a large disgram of a Quidditch field, on which were drawn many lines, arrows, and crosses in different-colored inks. He took out his wand, tapped the board, and the arrows began to wiggle over the diagram like caterpillars. As Wood launched into a speech about his new tactics, Fred's head drooped right onto Alicia Spinnet's shoulder and he began to snore.

The first board took nearly twenty minutes to explain, but there was another board under that, and a third under that one. Harry began to nod off himself, his head leaning on my shoulder. Wood droned on.

"So," Wood said, at long last, jerking Harry quickly from his nap and me from a wistful fantasy about what we could be eating for breakfast at this very moment up at the castle. "Is that clear? Any questions?"

"I've got a question, Oliver," George said, who had woken with a start. "Why couldn't you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?"

Wood wasn't pleased.

"Now, listen here, you lot," he said, glowering at us all. "We should have won the Quidditch cup last year. We're easily the best team. But unfortunately - owing to circumstances beyond our control -"

Both Harry and I shifted guiltily in our seats. We had been unconscious in the hospital wing for the final match of the previous year, meaning that Gryffindor had been two players short and had suffered their worst defeat in three hundred years.

Wood took a moment to regain control of himself. Our last defeat was clearly still torturing him.

"So this year, we train harder than ever before. . . .Okay, let's go and put our new theories into practice!" Wood shouted, seizing his broomstick and leading the way out of the locker room. Stiff-legged and still yawning, we all followed.

We had been in the locker room so long that the sun was up completely now, although remnants of mist hung over the grass in the stadium. As Harry and I walked onto the field, we saw Ron and Hermione sitting in the stands.

"Aren't you finished yet?" Ron called incredulously.

"Haven't even started," Harry said as we looked jealously at the toast and marmalade Ron and Hermione had brought out of the Great Hall. "Wood's been teaching us new moves."

We mounted our broomsticks and kicked at the ground, soaring up into the air. The cool morning air lashed at my face, waking me far more effectively thatn Wood's long talk. It felt wonderful to be back on the Quidditch field. We soared right around the stadium at full speed, racing Fred and George.

"What's that funny clicking noise?" Fred called as we hurtled around the corner. I looped around him before I hung upside down next to him.

Harry and I looked into the stands. Colin was sitting in one of the highest seats, his camera raised, taking picture after picture, the sound strangely magnified in the deserted stadium.

"Look this way, Harry, Cheyenne! This way!" he cried shrilly.

"Who's that?" Fred asked.

"No idea," Harry and I lied, putting on spurts of speed that took us as far away as possible from Colin.

"What's going on?" Wood said, frowning, as he skimmed through the air toward us. "Why's that first year taking pictures? I don't like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training program."

"He's in Gryffindor," Harry said quickly. I nodded, "He's right, Oliver. He sticks to Harry and I like glue. . ."

"And the Slytherins don't need a spy, Oliver," George said.

"What makes you say that?" Wood said testily.

"Because they're here in person," George said, pointing.

Several people in green robes were walking onto the field, broomsticks in their hands.

"I don't believe it!" Wood hissed in rage. "I booked the field for today! We'll see about this!"

Wood shot toward the ground, landing rather harder than he probably meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. Harry, Fred, George and I followed, but I stayed hovering nearby.

"Flint!" Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"

Marcus Flint was evern larger than Wood. He had a look of troll-ish cunning on his face as he replied, "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."

Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team, who stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering to a man.

"But I booked the field!" Wood said, positively spitting with rage. "I booked it!"

"Ah," Flint said. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. _I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker." _

"You've got a new Seeker?" Wood said, distracted. "Where?"

And from behind the six large figures before us came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy.

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" Fred said, looking at Malfoy with dislike.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," Flint said as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. "Let me show you the generous gift he'd made to the Slytherin team."

All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words _Nimbus Two Thousand and One _gleamed under our noses in the early morning sun.

"Very lastest model. Only came out last month," Flint said carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. "I believe it outstripes the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleensweeps" - he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives - "sweeps the board with them."

None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a moment. Malfoy was smirking so broadly his cold eyes were reduced to slits.

"Oh, look," Flint said. "A field invasion."

Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was going on.

"What's happening?" Ron asked Harry. "Why aren't you playing? And what's _he _doing here?"

He was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.

"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," Malfoy said, smugly. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team."

Ron gasped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him.

"Good, aren't they?" Malfoy said smoothly. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them."

The Slytherin team howled with laughter.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to _buy _their way in," Hermione said sharply. "_They _got in on pure talent."

The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat.

A gasp tore from my throat as an instant uproar erupted at his words. While I leapt off my broom despite being several feet in the air and hurried to consol Hermione, Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him, Alicia shrieked, _"How dare you!"_, and Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" and pointed it furiously under Flint's arm at Malfoy's face.

A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backward onto the grass.

"Ron! Ron! Are you all right?" Hermione squealed.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap.

The Slytherin team was paralyzed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging onto his new broomstick for support. Malfoy was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist. We Gryffindors were gathered around Ron, who kept belching large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him.

"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," Harry and I said to Hermione, who nodded bravely, and Harry and Hermione pulled Ron up by the arms. I grabbed our brooms and hurried after them.

"What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you? Cheyenne?" Colin had run down from his seat and was now dancing alongside us as we left the field. Ron gave a huge heave and more slugs dribbled down his front.

"Oooh," Colin said, fascinated and raising his camera. "Can you hold him still, Harry?"

"Get out of the way, Colin!" Harry and I said angrily. Harry and Hermione supported Ron out of the stadium and across the grounds toward the edge of the forest. I jogged alongside them, making sure to keep our brooms off the ground to make it easier to move.

"Nearly there, Ron," Hermione said as the gamekeeper's cabin came into view. "You'll be all right in a minute - almost there -"

We were within twenty feet of Hagrid's house when the front door opened, but it wasn't Hagrid who emerged. Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing robes of palest mauve today, came striding out.

"Quick, behind here," Harry and I hissed, dragging Ron behind a nearby bush. Hermione followed, somewhat reluctantly.

"It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!" Lockhart was saying loudly to Hagrid. "If you need help, you know where I am! I'll let you have a copy of my book. I'm surprised you haven't already got one - I'll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, good-bye!" And he strode away toward the castle.

Harry and I waited until Lockhart was out of sight, then pulled Ron out of the bush and up to Hagrid's front door. We knocked urgently.

Hagrid appeared at once, looking very grumpy, but his expression brightened when we saw who it was.

"Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me - come in, come in - thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again -"

Harry and Hermione supported Ron over the threshold into the one-roomed cabin, which had an enormous bed in one corner, a fire crackling merrily in the other. I propped my and Harry's brooms outside the door and hurried inside after them. Hagrid didn't seem perturbed by Ron's slug problem, which Harry hastily explained as he and Hermione lowered Ron into a chair.

"Better out than in," he said cheerfully, plunking a large copper basin in front of him, "Get 'em all up, Ron."

"I don't think there's anything to do except wait for it to stop," Hermione said anxiously, watching Ron bend over the basin. "That's a difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand -"

Hagrid was bustling around making us tea His boarhound, Fang, was slobbering all over Harry and I.

"What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?" Harry asked as I scratched Fang between the ears.

"Givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out of a well," Hagrid growled, moving a half-plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and setting down the teapot. "Like I don' know. An' bangin' on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my kettle."

It was most unlike Hagrid to criticize a Hogwarts' teacher, and Harry and I looked at him in surprise. Hermione, however, said in a voice somewhat higher than usual, "I think you're beinig a bit unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job -"

"He was the _on'y _man for the job," Hagrid said, offering us a plate of treacle fudge, while Ron coughed squelchily into his basin. "An' I mean the _on'y _one. Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren't too keen ter take it on, see. They're startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a while now. So tell me," Hagrid said, jerking his head at Ron. "Who was he tryin' ter curse?"

"Malfoy called Hermione something - it must've been really bad, because everyone went wild."

"It _was _bad," Ron said hoarsely, emerging over the tabletop looking pale and sweaty. "Malfoy called her 'Mudblood,' Hagrid -"

"He didn'!" he growled at Hermione.

"He did," she said. "But I don't know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course -"

"It's about the most insulting thing he could think of," Ron gasped, coming back up. I nodded, "Ron's right. Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born - you know, non-magic parents." Ron coughed. " - like Malfoy's family - who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood." He gave a small burp, and a single slug fell into his outstretched hand. He threw it into the basin and continued, "I mean, the rest of us know it doesn't make any difference at all. Look at Neville Longbottom - he's pure-blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up."

"An' they haven't invented a spell our Hermione can' do," Hagrid said proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of magenta. I smiled happily.

"It's a disgusting thing to call someone," Ron said, wiping his sweaty brow with a shaking hand. "Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It's ridiculous. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn't married Muggles we'd've died out."

He retched and ducked out of sight again.

"Well, I don' blame yeh fer tryin' ter curse him, Ron," Hagrid said loudly over the thuds of more slugs hitting the basin. "Bu' maybe it was a good thing yer wand backfired. 'Spect Lucius Malfoy would've come marchin' up ter school if yeh'd cursed his son. Least yer not in trouble."

It looked like Harry meant to say something, but apparently Hagrid's treacle fudge had cemented his jaws together.

"Harry, Cheyenne," Hagrid said abruptly as though struck by a sudden thought. "Gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I've heard you've bin givin' out signed photos. How come I haven't got one?"

I dropped my piece of treacle fudge on the ground.

"We have _not _been giving out signed photos," we said angrily. "If Lockhart's still spreading that around -"

But then we saw that Hagrid was laughing.

"I'm on'y jokin'," he said, patting Harry genially on the back and sending him face first into the table. "I knew yeh two hadn't really. I told Lockhart yeh didn' need teh. Yer both more famous than him without tryin'."

"Bet he didn't like that," Harry said, sitting up and rubbing his chin. I giggled, "Probably not."

"Don' think he did," Hagrid said, his eyes twinkling. "An' then I told him I'd never read one o' his books an' he decided ter go. Treacle fudge, Ron?" he added as Ron reappeared.

"No thanks," Ron said weakly. "Better not risk it."

"Come an' see what I've bin growin'," Hagrid said as Harry, Hermione and I finished the last of our tea.

In the small vegetable patch behind Hagrid's house were a dozen of the largest pumpkins Harry and I had ever seen. Each was the size of a large boulder.

"Gettin' on well, aren't they?" Hagrid said happily. "Fer the Halloween feast. . .should be big enough by then."

"What've you been feeding them?" Harry said.

Hagrid looked over his shoulder to check that we were alone.

"Well, I've bin givin' them - you know - a bit o' help -"

Harry and I noticed Hagrid's flowery pink umbrella leaning against the back wall of the cabin. Both of us had had reason to believe before now that this umbrella was not all it looked; in fact, we had the strong impression that Hagrid's old school wand was concealed inside it. Hagrid wasn't supposed to use magic. He had been expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, but neither Harry nor I had ever found out why - any mention of the matter and Hagrid would clear his throat loudly and become mysteriously deaf until the subject was changed.

"An Engorgement Charm, I suppose?" Hermione said, halfway between disapproval and amusement. "Well, you've done a good job on them."

"That's what yer little sister said," Hagrid said, nodding at Ron. "Met her jus' yesterday." Hagrid looked sideways at Harry, his beard twitching. "Said she was jus' lookin' round the grounds, but I reckon she was hopin' she might run inter someone else at my house." He winked at Harry. "If yeh ask me, _she _wouldn' say no ter a signed -"

"Oh, shut up," Harry snapped. I giggled and Ron snorted with laughter, spraying the ground with slugs.

"Watch it!" Hagrid roared, pulling Ron away from his precious pumpkins.

It was nearly lunchtime and as Harry and I had only had one bit of treacle fudge each since dawn, we were keen to go back to school to eat. We said good-bye to Hagrid and walked back up to the castle, Ron hiccoughing occasionally, but only bringing up two very small slugs.

We had barely set foot in the cool entrance hall when a voice rang out, "There you are, Potter - Weasley," Professor McGonagall was walking toward us, looking stern. "You will both do your detentions this evening."

"What're we doing, Professor?" Ron said, nervously suppressing a burp.

"_You_ will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr. Filch," Professor McGonagall said. "And no magic, Weasley - elbow grease."

Ron gulped. Argus Filch, the caretaker, was loathed by every student in the school.

"And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail," Professor McGonagall said.

"Oh n - Professor, can't I go and do the trophy room, too?" Harry said desperately.

"Certainly not," Professsor McGonagall said, raising her eyebrows. "Professor Lockhart requested you particularly. Eight o'clock sharp, both of you."

Harry and Ron slouched into the Great Hall in states of deepest gloom, Hermione and I following them. Hermione was wearing a _well-you-did-break-school-rules _sort of expression. Harry just kept picking at his shepherd's pie, looking as though he wasn't as hungry as he'd been a few minutes before.

"Filch'll have me there all night," Ron said heavily. "No magic! There must be about a hundred cups in that room. I'm no good at Muggle cleaning."

"I'd swap anytime," Harrysaid hollowly. "Chey and I've had loads of practice with the Dursleys. Answering Lockhart's fan mail. . .he'll be a nightmare. . . ."

Saturday afternoon seemed to melt away, and in what seemed like no time, it was five minutes to eight and Harry and Ron left for their detentions. Hermione and I stayed behind in the common room to wait for them. We alernated between talking and reading our Lockhart books. Hermione would often start a conversation when she read something interesting in her book.

Four hours had passed before we'd known it and neither Harry nor Ron had returned. Feeling really worried, I marked my place in my book and stood, "I'm gonna go see what's going on. Don't wait up." I said. Hermione looked up, "Be careful Chey, you don't wanna get in trouble yourself and have to serve detention like Harry and Ron, do you?" I sighed, "I know, I know. It'll be fine, Hermione. I'm just going to check on Harry and Ron, then come right back. It shouldn't take long." I waved and walked to the portrait hole.

An eerie hush had fallen on the castle, causing goosebumps to raise on my arms and the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. I shivered, rubbing at my arms to warm them. Something didn't feel right and I'd rather not stick around for long to find out what it was. I hurried down each darkened hallway and staircase I travelled, the only lights coming from the few lightened torches and the few rays of pale blue moonlight that glided through the thin glass windows high on the stone walls. The strangest thing was I didn't even bump into anyone while I travelled, not even Peeves, who was usually up to mischeif and would've rigged the carpets on the stairs for passers-by to trip and hurt themselves, but tonight, there was nothing.

My footsteps echoed loudly off the stone walls, only increasing the unease that twisted at my stomach. Clutching my book closer, I hurried down the next staircase, leaping the last two steps and nearly sprinting down the last hall leading to Lockhart's classroom/office. I opened the door and stepped into the moon bleached classroom, my eyes slowly adjusting to the dim lighting. Moving as slowly as I could between each row of desks, I used my left hand to feel my way around, stepping carefully so as not to fall or bump into something. I was just reaching the staircase at the front of the class, leading up to Lockhart's office when I froze.

I'd heard something - something quiet different from my quick breathing and the loud echoing of my footsteps, which had followed me from the Gryffindor tower all the way down here.

It was a voice, a voice to chill the bone marrow, a voice of breathtaking, ice-cold venom.

_"Come. . .come to me. . . .Let me rip you. . . .Let me tear you. . . . Let me kill you. . . ."_

The book slipped from my grasp, falling onto the floor with a thud. Tears stung my eyes and I bit my lip, hard, the taste of blood blossoming on my tongue. Shivering uncontrollably, I slowly backed into the wall and slid to the floor, fear gripping painfully at my heart. I covered my ears to block out the sounds and stayed crouched there, still shaking.

"Chey? Chey, what's the matter?" A gentle hand touched my shoulder and I opened my eyes, looking up into Harry's worried green eyes. "H-Harry?" I said, uncovering my ears. "What happened, Chey? Are you feeling well? Do you need to go to Madam Pomfrey?" I shook my head. He helped me up and picked up my Lockhart book before we made our way out of the classroom.

"Hey, Chey, are you sure things are all right? It's not like you to be like that. . ." Harry said as we made our way back to the Gryffindor tower. I sighed and explained what I'd heard outside Lockhart's office. Harry was really surprised and said he'd heard that very same voice while he was serving detention.

We discussed the voice all the way back to Gryffindor Tower, which was almost empty because it was so late. Harry and I talked more about the voice until Ron came back, nursing his right arm and bringing a strong smell of polish into the dim room.

"My muscles have all seized up," he groaned, sinking onto the couch between Harry and I. "Fourteen times he made me buff up that Quidditch cup before he was satisfied. And then I had another slug attack all over a Special Award for Services to the School. Took ages to get the slime off. . . .How was it with Lockhart?"

Keeping our voices low so none of the remaining Gryffindors awake heard us, Harry and I told Ron exactly what we had heard.

"And Lockhart said he couldn't hear it?" Ron said. Harry and I could see him frowning in the firelight. "D'you think he was lying? But I don't get it - even someone invisible would've had to open the door."

"We know," Harry said as I sighed. "We don't get it either." We all finished our discussion and separated for bed. I was still deep in thought about that voice as I pulled on my pajamas and crawled into bed. The voice followed me into my dreams.


	8. The Deathday Party

**Chapter Eight**

**The Deathday Party**

October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward. Ginny Weasley, who had been looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Percy. The steam pouring from under her vivid hair gave the impression that her whole head was on fire.

Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. Oliver Wood's enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which was why Harry and I were to be found, late one stormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower, both drenched to the skin and splattered with mud.

Even aside from the rain and wind it hadn't been a happy practice session. Fred and George, who had been spying on the Slytherin team, had seen for themselves the speed of those new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. They reported that the Slytherin team was no more than seven greenish blurs, shooting through the air like missiles.

As Harry and I squelched along the deserted corridor we came across somebody who looked just as preoccupied as we were. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely out of a window, muttering under his breath, ". . .don't fulfill their requirement. . .half an inch, if that. . ."

"Hello, Nick," Harry and I said.

"Hello, hello," Nearly Headless Nick said, starting and looking round. He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long, curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. He was pale as smoke, and both Harry and I could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside.

"You both look troubled, young Potter and Power," Nick said, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet.

"So do you," Harry pointed out.

"Ah," Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, "a matter of no importance. . . .It's not as though I really wanted to join. . . .Thought I'd apply, but apparently I 'don't fulfill requirements' -"

In spite of his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face.

"But you would think, wouldn't you," he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, "that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?"

"Oh - yes," said Harry, who was obviously supposed to agree. I kept my mouth shut.

"I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However -" Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read furiously:

_'We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore.'_

Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the letter away.

"Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Harry and Cheyenne! Most people would think that's good and beheaded, but oh, no, it's not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore."

Nearly Headless Nick took several deep breaths and then said, in a far calmer tone, "So - what's bothering you two? Anything I can do?"

"No," Harry and I sighed together. "Not unless you know where you can get eight free Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Sly -"

The rest of our sentence was drowned out by a high-pitched mewling from somewhere near Harry's ankles. We looked down and found outselves gazing into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was Mrs. Norris, the skeletal gray cat who was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort of deputy in his endless battle against students.

"You'd better get out of here, Harry, Cheyenne," Nick said quickly. "Filch isn't in a good mood - he's got the flu and some third years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He's been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you both dripping mud all over the place -"

"Right," Harry said, grabbing my hand and quickly backing us away from the accusing stare of Mrs. Norris, but not quickly enough. Drawn to the spot by the mysterious power that seemed to connect him with his foul car, Argus Filch burst suddenly through a tapestry to our right, wheezing and looking wildly about for the rule-breaker(s). There was a thick tartan scarf bound around his head, and his nose was unusually purple.

"Filth!" he shouted, his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping alarmingly as he pointed at the muddy puddle that had dripped from both my and Harry's Quidditch robes. "Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, Potter and Power!"

So, waving gloomily to Nearly Headless Nick, Harry and I followed Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprints on the floor.

Neither Harry nor I had ever been inside Filch's office before; it was a place most students avoided. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of friend fish lingered about the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls; from their labels, Harry and I could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves. A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Flich's desk. It was common knowledge that he was always begging Dumbledore to let him suspend students by their ankles from the ceiling.

Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shuffling around looking for parchment.

"Dung," he muttered furiously, "great sizzling dragon bogies. . .frog brains. . .rat intestines. . .I've had enough of it. . .make an _example_. . . where's the form. . .yes. . ."

He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer and stretched it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the ink pot.

"_Name_. . .Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power._ Crime_. . ."

"It was only a bit of mud!" Harry said.

"It's only a bit of mud to you two, but to me it's an extra hour scrubbing!" Filch shouted, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose. "_Crime_. . . befouling the castle. . ._suggested sentence_. . ."

Dabbing at his steaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Harry and I, both of us waiting with bated breath for our sentence to fall.

But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! on the ceiling of the office, which made the oil lamp rattle.

"PEEVES!" Filch roared, flinging down his quill in a transport of rage. "I'll have you this time, I'll have you!"

And without a backward glance at Harry or me, Filch ran flat-footed from the office, Mrs. Norris streaking alongside him.

Peeves was the school poltergeist, a grinning, airborne menace who lived to cause havoc and distress. Neither Harry nor I much liked Peeves, but neither of us could help feeling grateful for his timing. Hopefully, whatever Peeves had done (and it sounded as though he'd wrecked something very big this time) would distract Filch from the two of us.

Thinking that we should probably wait for Filch to come back, Harry let me sink into a moth-eaten chair next to the desk and stood behind me. On the desk, there was only one thing on it apart from our half-completed form: a large, glossy purple envelope with silver lettering on the front. With a quick glance at the door to check that Filch wasn't on his way back, Harry picked up the envelope and we read:

**KWIKSPELL**

_A Correspondence Course in Beginners' Magic_

Intrigued, Harry and I flicked the envelope open and pulled out the sheaf of parchment inside. More curly silver writing on the front page said:

_Feel out of step in the world of modern magic? Find yourself making excuses not to perform simple spells? Ever been taunted for your woe-ful wandwork?_

_There is an answer!_

_Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result; easy-learn course. Hundreds of witches and wizards have benefited from the Kwikspell method!_

_Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes:_

_'I had no memory for incantations and my potions were a family joke! Now, after a Kwikspell course, I am the center of attention at parties and friends beg for the recipe of my Scintillation Solution!"_

_Warlock D.J. Prod of Didsbury says:_

_'My wife used to sneer at my feeble charms, but one month into your fabulous Kwikspell course and I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you, Kwikspell!'_

Frowning some, yet still slightly fascinated, I helped Harry thumb through the rest of the envelope's contents. As we did this, I wondered why on earth Filch would want a Kwikspell course? Did this mean he wasn't a proper wizard? We were just reading 'Lesson One: Holding Your Wand (Some Useful Tips)" when shuffling footsteps outside told us Filch was coming back. Harry stuffed the parchment back into the envelope and threw it back onto the desk just as the door opened.

Filch was looking triumphant.

"That vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!" he was saying gleefully to Mrs. Norris. "We'll have Peeves out this time, my sweet -"

His eyes fell on Harry and I and then darted to the Kwikspell envelope, which, we both realized too late, was lying too feet away from where it had started.

Filch's pasty face went brick red. Harry and I braced ourselves for a tidal wave of fury. Filch hobbled across to his desk, snatched up the envelope, and threw it into a drawer.

"Have you - did you read -?" he sputtered.

"No," We lied quickly.

Filch's knobbly hands were twisted together.

"If I thought you'd read my private - not that it's mine - for a friend - be that as it may - however -"

Harry and I were staring at him, alarmed; Filch had never looked madder. His eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouchy cheeks, and the tartan scarf didn't help.

"Very well - go - and don't breathe a word - not that - however, if you didn't read - go now, I have to write up Peeves' report - go -"

Amazed at our luck, Harry and I sped out of the office, up the corridor, and back upstairs. To escape from Filch's offce without punishment was probably some kind of school record.

"Harry! Cheyenne! Did it work?"

Nearly Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom. Behind him, Harry and I could see the wreckage of a large black-and-gold cabinet that appeared to have been dropped from a great height.

"I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch's office," Nick said eagerly. "Thought it might distract him -"

"Was that you?" Harry and I said gratefully. "Yeah, it worked. We didn't even get detention. Thanks, Nick!"

We set off up the corridor together. Nearly Headless Nick, Harry and I noticed, was still holding Sir Patrick's rejection letter.

"I wish there was something we could do for you about the Headless Hunt," Harry said. I nodded in agreement.

Nearly Headless Nick stopped in his tracks and Harry walked right through him. I saw him shiver and knew it must've felt like a cold shower.

"But there _is _something you could do for me," Nick said excitedly. "Harry, Cheyenne - would I be asking too much - but no, neither of you would want -"

"What is it?" Harry and I asked.

"Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday," Nearly Headless Nick said, drawing himself up and looking dignified.

"Oh," Harry and I said, glancing at each other, unsure whether to look happy or sad about this information. "Right."

"I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an _honor_ if you would attend. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger would be most welcome, too, of course - but I daresay you'd rather go to the school feast?" He watched Harry and I nervously.

"No," Harry and I said quickly, "We'll come -"

"My dear kids! Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power, at my deathday party! And" - he hesitated, looking excited - "do either of you think you could _possibly _mention to Sir Patrick how _very _frightening and impressive you find me?"

"Of - of course," We said.

Nearly Headless Nick beamed at us.

"A deathday party?" Hermione said keenly when Harry and I had changed at last and joined her and Ron in the common room. "I bet there aren't many living people who can say they've been to one of those - it'll be fascinating."

"Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?" Ron said, who was halfway through his Potions homework and grumpy. "Sounds dead depressing to me. . . ."

Rain was still lashing the windows, which were now inky black, but inside all looked bright and cheerful. The firelight glowed over the countless squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doing homework or, in the case of Fred and George Weasley, trying to find out what would happen if you fed a Filibuster firework to salamander. Fred had 'rescued' the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it was now smouldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people.

Harry and I were at the point of telling Ron and Hermione about Filch and the Kwikspell course when the salamander suddenly whizzed into the air, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly round the room. The sight of Percy bellowing himself hoarse at Fred and George, the spectacular display of tangerine stars showering from the salamander's mouth, and its escape into the fire, with accompanying explosions, drove both Filch and the Kwikspell envelope from our minds.

By the time Halloween arrived, both Harry and I were regretting our rash promise to go to the Deathday party. The rest of the school was happily anticipating the Halloween feast; the Great Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid's vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in, and there were rumors that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment.

"A promise is a promise," Hermione reminded Harry and I bossily. "You both _said _you'd go to the Deathday party."

So at seven o'clock, Harry, Ron, Hermione and I walked straight past the doorway to the pack Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and directed our steps instead toward the dungeons.

The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party had been lined with candles, too, though the effect was far from cheerful: These were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even over our own living faces. The temperature dropped with every step we took. As we shivered and drew our robes tightly around ourselves, I heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.

"Is that supposed to be _music_?" Ron whispered. We turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.

"My dear friends," he said mournfully. "Welcome, welcome. . .so pleased you could come. . . ."

He swept off his plumed hat and bowed us inside.

It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Our breath rose in a mist before us; it was like stepping into a freezer.

"Shall we have a look around?" Harry suggested. I shifted uncomfortably, trying to get back the feeling in my feet.

"Careful not to walk through anyone," Ron said nervously, and we set off around the edge of the dance floor. We passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. Neither Harry nor I were surprised to see that the Blood Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, was being given a wide berth by the other ghosts.

"Oh, no," Hermione said, stopping abruptly. "Turn back, turn back. I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle -"

"Who?" Harry asked as we backtracked quickly and I paled.

"She haunts one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the first floor," I said quickly.

"She haunts a _toilet_?"

"Yes. It's been out-of-order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. We never went in there anyway if we could avoid it; it's awful trying to pee with her wailing at you -"

"Look, food!" Ron said.

On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in black velvet. We approached it eagerly but next moment had stopped in our tracks, horrified. The smell was quite disgusting. Large, rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal-black, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mold and, in a pride of place, an enormous gray cake in the shape of a tomb-stone, with tar-like icing forming the words,

**SIR NICHOLAS DE MIMSY-PORPINGTON**

**DIED 31ST OCTOBER, 1492**

We watched, amazed, as a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low, and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.

"Can you taste it if you walk though it?" Harry asked him.

"Almost," the ghost said sadly, and he drifted away.

"I expect they've let it rot to give it a stronger flavor," Hermione said knowledgeably, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis. A shiver shimmed down my spine, as though in agreement, and I covered my nose with my shirt.

"Can we move? I feel sick," Ron said.

We had barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in midair before us.

"Hello, Peeves," Harry and I said cautiously.

Unlike the ghosts around us, Peeves the Poltergeist was the very reverse of pale and transparent. He was wearing a bright oranger party hat, a revolving bow tie, and a broad grin on his wide, wicked face.

"Nibbles?" he said sweetly, offering us a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.

"No thanks," Hermione said.

"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," Peeves said, his eyes dancing. "_Rude_ you was about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breath and bellowed, "OY! MYRTLE!"

"Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her what I said, she'll be really upset," Hermione whispered frantically. "I didn't mean it, I don't mind her - er, hello, Myrtle."

The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had the glummest face I had ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles. I flinched at the look on her face and waved.

"What?" she said sulkily.

"How are you, Myrtle?" Hermion said in a falsely bright voice. "It's nice to see you out of the toilet."

Myrtle sniffed.

"Miss Granger was just talking about you -" Peeves said slyly in Myrtle's ear.

"Just saying - saying - how nice you look tonight," I interjected quickly, glaring at Peeves.

Myrtle eyes Hermione and I suspiciously.

"You're both making fun of me," she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes.

"No - honestly - didn't we just say how nice Myrtle's looking?" Hermione said, nudging Harry and Ron painfully in the ribs.

"Oh, yeah -"

"They did -"

"Don't lie to me," Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face, while Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. "D'you think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"

"You've forgotten pimply," Peeves hissed in her ear.

Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts, yelling, "_Pimplu! Pimply!_"

"Oh, dear," Hermione said sadly as I glared after Peeves.

"He's such a jerk! Myrtle's miserable enough with him adding fuel to the fire."

Nearly Headless Nick now drifted toward us through the crowd.

"Enjoying yourselves?"

"Oh, yes," we lied.

"Not a bad turnout," Nearly Headless Nick said proudly. "The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent. . . .It's nearly time for my speech, I'd better go and warn the orchestra. . . ."

The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a hunting horn sounded.

"Oh, here we go," Nearly Headless Nick said bitterly.

Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly; Harry had started to clap, too, but stopped as soon as he saw the look on Nick's face.

The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, rearing and plunging. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who held his bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing the horn. The ghost leapt down, lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the crowd (everyone laughed), and strode over to Nearly Headless Nick, squashing his head back onto his neck.

"Nick!" he roared. "How are you? Head still hanging in there?"

He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nearly Headless Nick on the shoulder.

"Welcome, Patrick," Nick said stiffly.

"Live 'uns!" Sir Patrick said, spotting Harry, Ron, Hermione and I and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again (the crowd howled with laughter).

"Very amusing," Nearly Headless Nick said darkly.

"Don't mind Nick!" Sir Patrick's head shouted from the floor. "Still upset we won't let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say - look at the fellow -"

Nick gave Harry and I a meaningful look, "We think," We said hurriedly. "Nick's very - frightening and - er -"

"Ha!" Sir Patrick's head shouted. "Bet he asked you two to say that!"

"If I could have everyone's attention, it's time for my speech!" Nearly Headless Nick said loudly, striding toward the podium and climbing into an icy blue spotlight.

"My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow. . . ."

But we didn't hear much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt had just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd was turning to watch. Nearly Headless Nick tried vainly to recapture his audience, but gave up as Sir Patrick's head went sailing past him to loud cheers.

Harry and I were very cold by now, not to mention hungry. We glanced at one another, shivering uncontrollably, our stomachs rumbling loudly.

"I can't stand much more of this," Ron muttered, his own teeth chattering, as the orchestra ground back into action and the ghosts swept back onto the dance floor.

"Let's go," Harry agreed.

We backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at us, and a minute later were hurrying back up the passageway full of black candles.

"Pudding might not be finished yet," Ron said hopefully, leading the way toward the steps to the entrance hall.

And then, Harry and I heard it.

". . ._rip. . .tear. . .kill. . ._"

It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice we had heard last time.

Harry stumbled to a halt, reaching out with one hand for something to grasp. His fingers wrapped around my wrist, making me stop too, his other hand clutching at the stone wall. We listened with all our might, looking around together, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.

"Harry, Cheyenne, what're you -"

"It's that voice again - shut up a minute -"

_". . .so hungry. . .for so long. . ."_

"Listen!" Harry said urgently, and Ron and Hermione froze, watching us.

_". . .kill. . .time to kill. . ."_

The voice was growing fainter. Harry and I were sure it was moving away - moving upward. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped us as we stared at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upward? Was it a phantom, to whom stone ceilings didn't matter?

"This way," Harry shouted and we started running at the same time, keeping in step with each other perfectly, his hand still clutching my wrist. We ran up the stairs, into the entrance hall. It was no good hoping to hear anything here, the babble of talk from the Halloween feast was echoing out of the Great Hall. Harry and I sprinted up the marble staircase, taking the stairs two at a time until we reached the first floor, Ron and Hermione clattering behind us.

"Harry, Cheyenne, what're we -

"SHH!"

Harry and I strained our ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and growing fainter still, we heard the voice: _". . .I smell blood. . . .I SMELL BLOOD!"_

Harry and I looked quickly at each other, our faces paling.

"It's going to kill someone!" we shouted, and ignoring Ron and Hermione's bewildered faces, we ran up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to listen over our pounding footsteps -

Harry and I hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Ron and Hermione panting behind us, neither of us stopping until we turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.

"Harry, Cheyenne, _what _was that all about?" Ron said, wiping sweat off his face. "I couldn't hear anything. . . ."

But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor.

_"Look!"_

Something was shining on the wall ahead. We approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

**THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.**

"What's that thing - hanging underneath?" Ron said, a slight quiver in his voice.

As we edged nearer, I felt Harry nearly slip - there was a large puddle of water on the floor; I turned sideways, my other hand grabbing his arm as Ron and Hermione grabbed him on his other side, and we inched toward the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All four of us realized what it was at once, and leapt backward with a splash.

Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat, was hunging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.

For a few seconds, we didn't move. Then Ron said, "Let's get out of here."

"Wait, shouldn't we try and help -" I began quickly.

"Trust me," Ron said. "We don't want to be found here."

But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told us that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where we stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people; next moment, students were crashing into the passage from both ends.

The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight.

Then someone shouted through the quiet.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"

It was Draco Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat.


	9. The Writing on the Wall

**Chapter Nine**

**The Writing on the Wall**

"What's going on here? What's going on?"

Attracted no doubt by Malfoy's shout, Argus Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he saw Mrs. Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror.

"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" he shrieked.

And his popping eyes fell on Harry and I.

_"You two!" _he screeched. _"You two! _You've both murdered my cat! You've both killed her! I'll kill you two! I'll -"

_"Argus!"_

Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past Harry, Ron, Hermione and I and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You, too, Mr. Potter, Miss Power, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger."

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly.

"My office is nearest, Headmaster - just upstairs - please feel free -"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," Dumbledore said.

The silent crowd parted to let us pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did Professors McGonagall and Snape.

As we entered Lockhart's darkened office there was a flurry of movement across the walls; Harry and I saw several of the Lockharts in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledore lay Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I exchanged tense looks and sank into chairs outside the pool of candlelight, watching. Harry loosened his grip and I slid my hand up, gripping his hand nervously. He squeezed softly in unsure reassurance.

The tip of Dumbledore's long, crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs. Norris' fur. He was looking at her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. Professor McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape loomed behind them, half in shadows, wearing a most peculiar expression: It was as though he was trying hard not to smile. And Lockhart was hovering around all of them, making suggestions.

"It was definitely a curse that killed her - probably the Transmogrifian Torture - I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very countercurse that would have saved her. . . ."

Lockhart's comments were punctuated by Filch's dry, racking sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris, his face in his hands. Much as we detested Filch. Neither Harry nor I could help feeling a bit sorry for him, though not nearly as sorry as we felt for ourselves. If Dumbledore believed Filch, we would be expelled for sure.

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand but nothing happened: She continued to look as though she had been recently stuffed.

". . .I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadogou," Lockhart continued, "a series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography, I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the matter up at once. . . ."

The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were all nodding in agreement as he talked. One of them had forgotten to remove his hair net.

At last Dumbledore straightened up.

"She's not dead, Argus," he said softly.

Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented.

"Not dead?" Filch choked, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris. "But why's she all - all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been Petrified," Dumbledore said ("Ah! I thought so!" Lockhart said). "But how, I cannot say. . . ."  
"Ask _them!_" Filch shrieked, turning his blotched and tearstained face to Harry and I.

"No second year could have done this," Dumbledore said firmly. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced -"

"They did it, they did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling, sounding like a five year old in a toystore that didn't get the toy he really wanted. "You saw what they wrote on the wall! They found - in my office - they know I'm a - I'm a -" Filch's face worked horribly. "They know I'm a Squib!" he finished.

"Neither of us ever _touched _Mrs. Norris!" Harry and I blurted out, both of us uncomfortably aware of everyone looking at us, including all the Lockharts on the walls. "And we don't even know what a Squib _is_!"

"Rubbish!" Filch snarled. "They saw my Kwikspell letter!"

"If I might speak, Headmaster," Snape said from the shadows and our sense of forboding increased; we were sure nothing Snape had to say was going to do us any good.

"Potter, Power and their friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said, a slight sneer curling his mouth as though he doubted it. "But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why were they in the upstairs corridor at all? Why weren't they at the Halloween feast?"

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I all launched into an explanation about the deathday party. ". . .there were hundreds of ghosts, they'll tell you we were there -"

"But why not join the feast afterward?" Snape said, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Why go up to that corridor?"

Ron and Hermione looked at Harry and I as we glanced at each other uneasily.

"Because - because -" We started, our hearts thumping very fast; something told us it would sound very far-fetched if we told them we had been led there by a bodiless voice no one but the two of us could hear, "because we were tired and wanted to go to bed," we finished.

"Without any supper?" Snape said, a triumphant smile flickering across his gaunt face. "I didn't think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties."

"We weren't hungry," Ron said loudly as his stomach gave an angry rumble in protest.

Snape's nasty smile widened.

"I suggest, Headmaster, that neither Potter nor Power is being entirely truthful," he said. "It might be a good idea if they were deprived of certain privileges until they're ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel they should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until they are ready to be honest."

"Really, Severus," Professor McGonagall said sharply, "I see no reason to stop the two playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that either Potter nor Power has done anything wrong."

Dumbledore was giving Harry and I each a searching look. His twinkling light-blue gaze made both of us feel as though we were being X-rayed.

"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said firmly.

Snape looked furious. So did Filch.

"My cat has been Petrified!" he shrieked, his eyes popping. "I want to see some _punishment!_"

"We will e able to cure her, Argus," Dumbledore said patiently. "Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris."

"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep -"

"Excuse me," Snape cut in icily. "But I believe I am the Potions Master at this school."

There was an extremely awkward pause.

"You may go," Dumbledore said to Harry, Ron, Hermione and I.

We went, as quickly as we could without actually running. When we were a floor up from Lockhart's office, we turned into an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind ourselves. Harry and I squinted at our friends' darkened faces.

"D'you think we should have told them about that voice we heard?"

"No," Ron said, without hesitation. "Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."

Something in Ron's voice made Harry and I ask, "You don't believe us, do you?"

" 'Course I do," Ron said quickly. "But - you must admit it's weird. . . ."

"We know it's weird," Harry and I said. "The whole thing's weird. What was that writing on the wall about? _The Chamber Has Been Opened_. . . .What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know, it rings a sort of bell," Ron said slowly. "I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once. . .might've been Bill. . . ."

"And what on earth's a Squib?" Harry and I asked.

To our surprise, Ron stifled a snigger.

"Well - it's not funny really - but as it's Filch," he said, clearing his throat some. "A Squib is someone who was born into a wizarding family but hasn't got any magic powers. Kind of the opposite of Muggle-born wizards, but Squibs are quiet unusual. If Filch's trying to learn magic from a Kwikspell course, I reckon he must be a Squib. It would explain a lot. Like why he hates students so much," Ron gave a satisfied smile. "He's bitter."

A clock chimed somewhere.

"Midnight," Harry said. "We'd better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else."

For a few days, the school could talk of little else but the attack on Mrs. Norris. Filch kept it fresh in everyone's minds by pacing the spot where she had been attacked, as though he thought the attacker might come back. Both Harry and I had seen him scrubbing the message on the wall with Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but to no effect; the words still gleamed as brightly as ever on the stone. When Filch wasn't guarding the scene of the crime, he was skulking red-eyed through the corridors, lunging out at unsuspecting students and trying to put them in detention for things like 'breathing loudly' and 'looking happy.'

Ginny Weasley seemed very disturbed by Mrs. Norris' fate. According to Ron, she was a great cat lover.

"But you haven't really got to know Mrs. Norris," Ron told her bracingly. "Honestly, we're much better off without her." Ginny's lip trembled. "Stuff like this doesn't often happen at Hogwarts," Ron assured her. "They'll catch the maniac who did it and have him out of here in no time. I just hope he's got time to Petrify Filch before he's expelled. I'm only joking -" Ron added hastily as Ginny blanched.

The attack had also had an effect on Hermione. It was quite usual for Hermione to spend a lot of time reading, but she was now doing almost nothing else. Neither Harry nor Ron could get much response from her when they asked what she was up to. I was the only one she talked to, often mumbling things to me under her breath when the boys were around. They didn't find out what Hermione was doing until the following Wednesday.

Both Harry and I had been held back in Potions, where Snape had made us stay behind to scrape tubeworms off the desks. After a hurried lunch, we went upstairs to meet Ron in the library, and saw Justin Finch-Fletchley, the Hufflepuff boy from Herbology, coming toward us. Harry had just opened his mouth to say hello when Justin caught sight of us, turned abruptly, and sped off in the opposite direction.

We found Ron at the back of the library, measuring his History of Magic homework. Professor Bins had asked for a three-foot-long composition on 'The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards.'

"I don't believe it, I'm still eight inches short. . . ." Ron said furiously, letting go of his parchment, which sprang back into a roll. "And Hermione's done four feet seven inches and her writing's _tiny_. How long was yours, Cheyenne?" He growled, turning his angry gaze on me.

I blinked, smiling sheepishly, "Four feet and two inches. Hermione put more information into hers'. I completely forgot to add the section in which the wizards all agreed on each set rule they put into place and how it should be written out in the law to prevent the exposure of wizard kind to the non-magical community." I said, scratching at the back of my neck as Ron's groaned, putting his head down on the table. "And your writing is only a little bigger than Hermione's! And so neat!"

"Where is Hermione?" Harry asked in an effort to change the subject somewhat. He asked for the tape measure and I handed it to him so he could measure his own homework.

"Somewhere over there," Ron said, pointing along the shelves. "Looking for another book. I think she's trying to read the whole library before Christmas. You should help her, Cheyenne."

Harry told Ron about Justin Finch-Fletchley running away from us.

"Dunno why either of you care. I thought he was a bit of an idiot," Ron said, scribbling away, making his writing as large as possible. "All that junk about Lockhart being so great -"

Hermione emerged from between the bookshelves. She looked irritable and at last seemed ready to talk to the boys.

"_All _the copies of _Hogwarts, A History _have been taken out," she said, sitting down between Ron and Harry. "And there's a two-week waiting list. I _wish _I hadn't left my copy at home, but I couldn't fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart books."

"Why do you want it?" Harry asked.

"The same reason everyone else wants it," Hermione said. I sighed, "to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets." I finished. "Exactly."

"What's that?" Harry asked quickly.

"That's just it. I can't remember," Hermione said, biting her lip. "And I can't find the story anywhere else -"

"Hermione, let me read you composition," Ron said desperately, checking his watch.

"No, I won't," Hermione said, suddenly severe. "You've had ten days to finish it -"

"I only need another two inches, come on - Cheyenne, help me out here."

My lips drew together in a tight line, "Sorry Ron, but if the boss says no, then that's what I'm gonna say," I said, smiling as Hermione grinned at me.

The bell rang. Ron and Hermione led the way to History of Magic, bickering.

History of Magic was the dullest subject on our schedule. Professor Bins, who taught it, was our only ghost teacher, and the most exciting thing that ever happened in his classes was his entering the room through the blackboard. Ancient and shriveled, many people said he hadn't noticed he was dead. He had simply got up to teach one day and left his body behind him in an armchair in front of the staff room fire; his routine had not varied in the slightest since.

Today was as boring as ever. Professor Binns opened his notes and began to read in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner until nearly everyone in the class was in a deep stupor, occasionally coming to long enough to copy down a name or date, then falling asleep again. He had been speaking for half an hour when something happened that had never happened before. Hermione put up her hand.

Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deadly dull lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed.

"Miss - er -?"

"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets," Hermione said in a clear voice.

Dean Thomas, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Lavender Brown's head came up off her arms and Neville Longbottom's elbow slipped off his desk.

Professor Binns blinked.

My subject is History of Magic," he said in his dry, wheezy voice. "I deal with _facts, _Miss Granger, not myths and legends." He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk snapping and continued, "In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers -"

He stuttered to a halt. Hermione's hand was waving in the air again.

"Miss Grant?"

"Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?"

Professor Binns was looking at her in such amazement, I was sure no student had ever interrupted him before, alive or dead. I cleared my throat some as well.

"Sir, Hermione is right. A faction of truth must have been derived from one point in history and possibly been threaded into a legend, such as the one of the Chamber of Secrets or of any other legend man has come to know. As an educator, any question by one of your students should be considered and at least answered at the best of your ability. It _is _your job to educate us, Mr. Binns." I said, feeling several pairs of eyes on me, including those of my ghostly teacher.

"Well," Professor Binns said slowly, "yes, one could argue those points, I suppose." He glanced between Hermione and I curiously, as though he'd never seen students properly before. "However, the legend of which you two speak is such a very _sensational_, even _ludicrous_ tale -"

But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binn's every word. He looked dimly at us all, every face turned to him.

Harry and I could tell he was completely thrown by such an unusual show of interest.

"Oh, very well," he said slowly. "Let me see. . .the Chamber of Secrets. . ."

"You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago - the precise date is uncertain - by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution."

He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued.

"For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more _selective_ about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school."

Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips, looking like a wrinkled old tortoise.

"Reliable historical sources tell us this much," he said. "But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founds knew nothing."

"Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic."

Silence met him as Professor Binns finished telling the story, but it wasn't the usual, sleepy silence that often filled his classes. There was unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him, hoping for more. Professor Binns looked fairly annoyed.

"The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course," he said. "Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, bu the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible."

Hermione's hand was back in the air.

"Sir - what exactly do you mean by the 'horror within' the Chamber?"

"That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control," Professor Binns said in his dry, reedy voice.

We all exchanged nervous looks.

"I tell you, the thing does not exist," Professor Binns said, shuffling his notes. "There is no Chamber and no monster."

"But, sir," Seamus Finnigan said, "if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's true heir, no one else _would _be able to find it, would they?"

"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," Professor Binns said in an aggravated tone. "if a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven't found the thing -"

"But, Professor," Parvati Patil piped up, "you'd probably have to use Dark Magic to open it -"

"Just because a wizard _doesn't _use Dark Magic doesn't mean he _can't, _Miss Pennyfeather," Professor Binns snapped. "I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore -"

"But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't -" Dean Thomas began, but Professor Binns had had enough.

"That will do," he interrupted sharply. "It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to _history_, to solid, believable, verifiable _fact_!"

And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual stupor.

"I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony," Ron told Harry, Hermione and I as we fought our way through the teeming corridors at the end of the lesson to drop off our bags before dinner. "But I never knew he started all this pure-blood stuff. I wouldn't be in his house if you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to put me in Slytherin, I'd've got the train straight back home. . . ."

Hermione nodded fervently, but neither Harry nor I said anything. We glanced quickly at one another, feeling sick.

Neither Harry nor I had ever told Ron and Hermione that the Sorting Hat had seriously considered putting _us _in Slytherin. We could remember, as though it were yesterday, the small voice that had spoken in our ears when we'd placed the hat on our heads a year before: _You could be great, you know, it's all here in your heads, and Slytherin would help you both on the way to greatness, no doubt about that_. . . .

But Harry and I, both of whom had already heard of Slytherin House's reputation for turning out Dark wizards, had thought desperately. _Not Slytherin! _and the hat had said, _Oh, well, if you're sure. . .better be Gryffindor_. . . .

As we were shunted along the throng, Colin Creevey went past.

"Hiya, Harry, Cheyenne!"

"Hullo, Colin," Harry and I said automatically.

"Harry - Cheyenne - a boy in my class has been saying you're both -"

But Colin was so small he couldn't fight again the tide of people bearing him toward the Great Hall; we heard him squeak, "See you, Harry, Cheyenne!" and he was gone.

"What's a boy in his class saying about you two?" Hermione wondered.

"That _we're _Slytherin's heir, we expect," Harry said, glancing at me as a shiver ran down my spine and I quickly shook my head from side to side as a reflex. We both suddenly remembered the way Justin Finch-Fletchley had run away from us at lunchtime.

"People here'll believe anything," Ron said in disgust.

The crowd thinned and we were able to climb the next staircase without difficulty.

"D'you _really _think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" Ron asked Hermione and I.

Hermione glanced at me, "I don't know," she said, frowning deeply. "Dumbledore couldn't cure Mrs. Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be - well - human."

As she spoke, we turned a corner and found ourselves at the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened. We stopped and looked. The scene was just as it had been that night, except that there was no stiff cat hanging from the torch bracket, and an empty chair stood against the wall bearing the message 'The Chamber of Secrets has been Opened."

"That's where Filch has been keeping guard," Ron muttered.

We looked at each other. The corridor was deserted.

"Can't hurt to have a poke around," Harry said, dropping his bag and getting to his hands and knees so that he could crawl along, searching for clues. He almost looked like a dog the way he was crawling around.

"Scorch marks!" he said. "Here - and here -"

"Come and look at this!" Hermione said. "This is funny. . . ."

I helped Harry up and we crossed to the window next to the message on the wall. Hermione was pointing at the topmost pane, where around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.

"Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" Hermione asked curiously.

"No," Harry said, "have you, Ron? Chey? Guys?"

He looked over his shoulder at us. Ron and I were standing well back, hugging each other and seeming to hold each other in place there.

"What's up?" Harry asked Ron.

"I - don't - like - spiders," Ron said tensely as I shivered.

"I never knew that," Hermione said, looking at Ron and I in surprise. "You've both used spiders in Potions loads of times. . . ."

"We don't mind them dead," I said as Ron was carefully looking anywhere but at the window. "We just don't like the way they move. . . ."

Hermione giggled

"It's not funny!" Ron and I said, fiercely. "If you must know, when I was three, Fred turned my - my teddy bear into a great big filthy spider because I broke his toy broomstick. . . .You wouldn't like them either if you'd been holding your bear and suddenly it had too many legs and. . ." He broke off, shuddering. I shuddered myself. "Yeah and I had to live in a broomcloset with those little. . .pests from one to eleven. Imagine trying to sleep when you feel some crawling up your leg or in your clothes. . ."

Hermione still looked like she was trying not to laugh. Thankfully, Harry changed the subject. "Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone's mopped it up."

"It was about here," Ron said, recovering himself to walk a few paces past Filch's chair and pointing. "Level with this door."

He reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his hand as though he'd been burned.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked from where he stood with me, trying to consol me.

"Can't go in there," Ron said gruffly. "That's a girls' toilet."

"Oh, Ron, there won't be anyone in there," Hermione said, getting to her feet and walking over. "That's Moaning Myrtle's place. Come on, let's have a look."

And ignoring the large **OUT OF ORDER **sign, she opened the door.

It was the gloomist, most depressing bathroom I'd ever set foot in. Under a large, cracked, and spotted mirror were a row of chipped sinks. The floor was damp and reflected the dull light give off by the stubs of a few candles, burning low in their holders; the wood doors to the stalls were flaking and scratched and one of them was dangling off its hinges.

Hermione put her fingers to her lips and set off toward the end stall. When she reached it she said, "Hello, Myrtle, how are you?"

Harry, Ron and I followed her. Moaning Myrtle was floating above the tank of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin.

"This is a _girls' _bathroom," she said, eyeing Harry and Ron suspiciously. "_They're _not girls."

"No," Hermione and I agreed. "We, Chey and I, wanted to show them how - er - nice it is in here."

She waved vaguely at the dirty old mirror and the damp floor.

"Ask her if she saw anything," Harry mouthed to Hermione and I.

"What are you whispering?" Myrtle asked, glaring at him.

"Nothing," Harry said quickly. "We wanted to ask -"

"I wish people would stop talking behind my back!" Myrtle cried in a voice choked with tears. "I _do _have feelings, you know, even if I _am _dead -"

"Myrtle, no one wants to upset you," I cut in quickly, "Harry just -"

"No one wants to upset me! That's a good one!" Myrtle howled. "My life was nothing but misery at this place and now people come along ruining my death!"

"We wanted to ask you if you've seen anything funny lately," Hermione cut in quickly. "Because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween."

"Did you see anyone near here that night?" Harry asked.

"I wasn't paying attention," Myrtle said dramatically. "Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to _kill _myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I'm - that I'm -"

"Already dead," Ron said helpfully.

Myrtle gave a tragic sob, rose up in the air, turned over, and dived headfirst into the toilet, splashing water all over us and vanishing from sight, although from the direction of her muffled sobs, she had come to rest somewhere in the U-bend.

Harry and Ron stood with their mouths open, but Hermione and I shrugged wearily and said, "Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle. . . .Come on, let's go."

Harry had barely closed the door on Myrtle's gurgling sobs when a loud voice made all four of us jump.

"RON!"

Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the head of the stairs, prefect badge agleam, an expression of complete shock on his face.

"That's a _girls' _bathroom!" he gasped. "What were _you_ -?"

"Just having a look around," Ron shrugged. "Clues, you know -"

Percy swelled in a manner that reminded Harry and I forcefully of Mrs. Weasley.

"Get - away - from - there -" Percy said, striding toward us and starting to bustle us along, flapping his arms. "Don't you _care _what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone's at dinner -"

"Why shouldn't we be here?" Ron said hotly, stopping short and glaring at Percy. "Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!"

"That's what I told Ginny," Percy said fiercely, "but she still seems to think you're going to be expelled, I've never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out, you might think of _her, _all the first years are thoroughly overexcited by this business -"

"_You _don't care about Ginny," Ron said, his ears now reddening. "_You're _just worried I'm going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy -"

"Five points from Gryffindor!" Percy said angrily, fingering his prefect badge. "And I hope it teaches you a lesson! No more _detective work_, or I'll write to Mum!"

And he marched off, the back of his neck as red as Ron's ears.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I chose seats as far as possible from Percy in the common room that night. Ron was still in a very bad temper and kept blotting his Charms homework. When he reached absently for his wand to remove the smudges, it ignited the parchment. Fuming almost as much as his homework, Ron slammed _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 _shut. To my and Harry's surprise, Hermione followed suit.

"Who can it be, though?" she said in a quiet voice, as though continuing a conversation we had just been having. "Who'd _want _to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?"

"Let's think," Ron said in mock puzzlement. "Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?"

He looked at Hermione. She looked back, unconvinced.

"If you're talking about Malfoy -"

"Of course I am!" Ron said. "You heard him - _'You'll be next, Mudbloods!'_ - come on, you've only got to look at his foul rat face to know it's him -"

"Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?" Hermion said skeptically.

"Look at his family," Harry said, closing his books, too. I did so as well. "The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin; he's always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin's descendants. His father's definitely evil enough." I hummed softly, thinking back to Halloween.

"They couldn't had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!" Ron said. "Handing it down, father to son. . . ."

"And, think back to Halloween night, remember the way Malfoy looked when we saw him. Didn't he look unusual to any of you? He wasn't as pale as usual and he had this kind of. . ." I paused to think of the right word, "Trumiphant look on his face. That sound be enough of an indication that he'd been behind it."

Harry glanced at me, blinking some, "Wait, I do remember how he looked at night. His face was flushed with color. He looked like he'd been running or had done some exercise. He could've slipped out of the Great Hall, gone up to the second floor, Petrified Mrs. Norris, and then run back downstairs before we appeared!" He said, his eyes widening. I nodding, "Exactly."

"Well," Hermione said cautiously. "I suppose it's possible. . . ."

"But how do we prove it?" Harry asked, his mood darkening.

"There might be a way," Hermione said slowly, dropping her voice still further with a quick glance across the room at Percy. "Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect -"

"If, in a month or so, you feel like explaining, you will let us know, won't you?" Ron asked irritably.

"Hold your horses, Ron. I know what Hermione's talking about. Please, Hermione, continue." I said, giving Ron a glare for being rude.

"Thanks, Chey," Hermione said, sighing, "What we'd need to do is to get inside the Slytherin common room and asked Malfoy a few questions without him realizing it's us."

"But that's impossible," Harry said as Ron gave a snort of laughter.

"No it's not," Hermione said. "All we'd need would be some Polyjuice Potion."

"What's that?" Harry and Ron asked together.

"Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago -"

"D'you think we've got nothing better to do in Potions than listen to Snape?" Ron muttered.

"It transforms you into somebody else. Think about it! We cold change into three of the Slytherins. No one would know it was us. Malfoy would probably tell us anything. He's probably boasting about it in the Slytherin common room right now, if only we could hear him."

"This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me," Ron said, frowning. "What if we were stuck looking like three of the Slytherin's forever?"

"It wears off after a while," Hermione said, waving her hand impatiently. "But getting hold of the recipe will be very difficult. Snape said it was in a book called _Moste Potente Potions_ and it's bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library."

There was only one way to get out a book from the Restricted Section: You needed a signed note of permissin from a teacher.

"Hard to see why we'd want the book, really," Ron said, "if we weren't going to try and make one of the potions."

"I think," Hermione said, "that if we made it sound as though we were just interested in the theory, we might stand a chance. . . ."

"Oh, come on, no teacher's going to fall for that," Ron said. "They'd have to be really thick. . . ."

"Wait a minute. . ." I said, grinning evilly, "I have an idea. . . ."


	10. The Rogue Bludger

**Chapter Ten**

**The Rogue Bludger**

Since the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought live-creatures to class. Instead, he read passages from his books to us, and sometimes reenacted some of the more dramatic bits. He usually picked Harry and I to help him with these reconstructions; so far, we'd each been forced to play a simple Transylvanian villager whom Lockhart had cured of a Babbling Curse, a yeti with a head cold, and a vampire who had been unable to eat anything except lettuce since Lockhart had dealt with him.

Harry was hauled to the front of the class during our very next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, this time acting a werewolf. I knew if we hadn't had a very good reason for keeping Lockhart in a good mood, he would have refused to do it.

"Nice loud howl, Harry - exactly - and then, if you'll believe it, I pounced - like this - _slammed_ him to the floor - thus - with one hand, I managed to hold him down - with my other, I put my wand to his throat - I then screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm - he let out a piteous moan - go on, Harry - higher than that - good 0 the fur vanished - the fangs shrank - and he turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective - and another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks."

The bell rang and Lockhart got to his feet.

"Homework - compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of _Magical Me_ to the author of the best one!"

The class began to leave. Harry returned to the back of the room, where Ron, Hermione and I were waiting.

"Ready?" Harry muttered.

"Wait till everyone's gone," Hermione said nervously. "All right. . ."

She approached Lockhart's desk, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand. Harry, Ron and I followed right behind her.

"Er - Professor Lockhart?" Hermione stammered. "I wanted to - to get this book out of the library. Just for background reading." She held out the piece of paper, her hand shaking slightly. "But the thing is, it's in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it - I'm sure it would help me understand what you say in _Gadding with Ghouls_ about slow-acting venoms -"

"Ah, _Gadding with Ghouls_!" Lockhart said, taking the note from Hermione and smiling widely at her. "Possibly my very favorite book. You enjoyed it!"

"Oh, yes," Hermione said eagerly. "So clever, the way you trapped that last one with the tea-strainer -"

"Well, I'm sure no one will mind me giving the best student of the year little extra help," Lockhart said warmly, and he pulled out an enormous peacock quill. "Yes, nice, isn't it?" he said, misreading the revolted look on Ron's face. "I usually save it for book signings."

He scrawled an enormous loopy signature on the note and handed it back to Hermione.

"So, Harry, Cheyenne," Lockhart said, while Hermione folded the note with fumbling fingers and slipped it into her bag. "Tomorrow's the first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not? I hear you're both useful players, I was a Seeker, too. I was asked to try for the National Squad, but preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of the Dark Forces. Still, if either of you feel the need for a litte private training, don't hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass on my experience to less able players. . . ."

Harry and I each made an indistinct noise in our throats and then hurried off after Ron and Hermione.

"He talked to us as though we were five year olds!" I growled angrily.

"I don't beileve it," Harry said as the four of us examined the signature on the note. "He didn't even _look _at the book we wanted."

"That's because he's a brainless _git_," Ron said "But who cares, we've got what we needed -"

"He is _not _a brainless git," Hermione said shrilly as we half ran toward the library. Madam Pince, the librarian, was a thin, irritable woman who looked like an underfed vulture.

_"Moste Potente Potions?"_ she repeated suspiciously, trying to take the note fro Hermione; but Hermione wouldn't let go.

"I was wondering if I could keep it," she said breathlessly.

"Oh, come on," Ron said, wrenching it from her grasp and thrusting it at Madam Pince. "We'll get you another autograph. Lockhart'll sign anything if is stands still long enough."

Madam Pince held the note up to the light, as though determined to detect a forgery, but it passed the test. She stalked away between the lofty shelves nd returned several minutes later carrying a large and moldy-looking book. Hermione put it carefully into her bag and we left, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty.

Five minutes later, we were barricaded in Moaning Myrtle's out-of-order bathroom once again. Hermione had overridden Ron's objections by pointing out that it was the last place anyone in their right minds would go, so we were guaranteed some privacy. Moaning Myrtle was crying noisily in her stall, but we were ignoring her, and she us.

Hemrione opened _Moste Potente Potions_ carefully, and the four of us bent over the damp-spotted pages. It was clear from a glance why it belonged in the Restricted Section. Some of the potions had effects almost too gruesome to think about, and there were some very unpleasant illustration, which included a man who seemed to have been turned inside out and a witch sprouting several extra pairs of arms out of her head.

"Here it is," Hermione said excitedly as she found the page headed _The Polyjuice Potion_. It was decorated with drawings of people halfway through transforming into other people. Harry and I glanced at each other, sincerely hoping the artist had imagined the looks of intense pain on their faces.

"This is the most complicated potion I've ever seen," Hermione said as we scanned the recipe. "Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass," she muttered, running her finger down the list of ingrediants. "Well, they're easy enough, they're in the student store-cupboard, we can help ourselves. . . .Oooh, look, powdered horn of a bicorn - don't know where we're going to get that - shredded skin of a boomslang - that'll be tricky, too - and of course a bit of whoever we want to change into."

"Excuse me?" Ron said sharply. "What d'you mean, a bit of whoever we're changing into? I'm drinking _nothing _with Crabbe's toenails in it -"

Hermione continued as though she hasn't heard him.

"We don't have to worry about that yet, though, because we add those bits last. . . ."

Ron turned, speechless, to Harry and I, both of us having another worry.

"D'you realize how much we're going to have to steal, Hermione? Shredded skin of a boomslang, that's definitely not in the students' cupboard. What're we going to do, break into Snape's private stores? We don't know if this is a good idea. . . ."

Hermione shut the book with a snap.

"Well, if you three are going to chicken out, fine," she said. There were bright pink patches on her ceeks and her eyes were brighter than usual. "_I _don't want to break rules, you know. _I _think threatening Muggle-borns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion. But if you don't want to find out if it's Malfoy, I'll go straight to Madam Pince now and hand the book back in -"

"I never thought I'd see the day when you'd be persuading us to break rules," Ron said. "All right, we'll do it. But not toenails, okay?"

"How long will it take to make, anyway?" Harry asked as Hermione, looking happier, opened the book again.

"Well, since the fluxweed has got to be picked at the full moon and the lacewings have got to be stewed for twenty-one days. . .I'd say it'd be ready in about a month, if we can get all the ingredients."

"A month?" Ron said in disbelief. "Malfoy could have attacked half the Muggle-borns in the school by then!" But Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously again, and he added swiftly, "But it's the best plan we've got, so full steam ahead, I say."

However, while Hermione was checking that the coast was clear for us to leave the bathroom, Ron muttered to Harry and I, "It'll be a lot less hassle if one of you can just knock Malfoy off his broom tomorrow."

I awoke early on Saturday morning and lay in bed for a while thinking about the coming Quidditch match. I was nervous, mainly at the thought of what Wood would say if Gryffindor lost, but also at the idea of facing a team mounted on the fastest racing brooms gold could buy. Neither Harry nor I had ever wanted to beat Slytherin so badly. After half an hour of lying there with my insides eating at themselves, I got up, dressed, and went down to the common room to wait for Harry. Once Harry came down from his dorm, we made our way to the Great Hall, where we found the rest of the Gryffindor team huddled at the long, empty table, all looking uptight and not speaking much.

As eleven o'clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. It was a muggy sort of day with a hint of thunder in the air. Ron and Hermione came hurrying over to wish Harry and I good luck as we entered the locker rooms. The team pulled on their scarlet Gryffindor robes, then sat down to listen to Wood's usual pre-match pep talk.

"Slytherin has better brooms than us," he began. "No point denying it. But we've got better_ people _on our brooms. We've trained harder than they have, we've been flying in all weathers -" ("Too true," George Weasley muttered. "I haven't been properly dry since August") " - and we're going to make them rue the day they let that little bit of slime, Malfoy, buy his way onto their team."

Chest heaving with emotion, Wood turned to Harry and I.

"It'll be down to you, Harry, Cheyenne, to show them that a Seeker and his Helper have to have something more than a rich father. Get to that Snitch before Malfoy or die trying, you two, because we've got to win today, we've got to."

"So no pressure, Harry, Cheyenne," Fred said, winking at us.

As we walked out onto the pitch, a roar of noise greeted us; mainly cheers, because Ravenclaw and Hufflehuff were anxious to see Slytherin beaten, but the Slytherins in the crowd made their boos and hisses heard, too. Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary.

"On my whistle," Madam Hooch said. "Three. . .two. . .one. . ."

With a roar from the crowd to speed us upward, fifteen players rose toward the leaden sky. Harry and I flew higher than any of them, squinting around for the Snitch.

"All right there, Scarheads?" Malfoy yelled, shooting between us as though to show off the speed of his broom.

Neither Harry nor I had time to reply. At that very moment, a heavy black Bludger came pelting toward us; we spun out of its way, avoiding it so narrowly that we felt it ruffle our hair as it passed.

"Close one, Harry, Cheyenne!" George said, streaking past us with his club in his hand, ready to knock the Bludger back toward a Slytherin. Harry and I saw George give the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Adrian Pucey, but the Bludger changed direction in midair and shot straight for Harry and I again.

Both Harry and I dropped quickly to avoid it, and George managed to hit it hard toward Malfoy. Once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot at Harry's head.

Harry and I put on bursts of speed and zoomed toward the other end of the pitch. We could hear the Bludger whistling along behind us. What was going on? Bludgers never concentrated on one or two players like this; it was their job to try and unseat as many people as possible. . . .

Fred was waiting for the Bludger at the other end. Harry and I ducked as Fred swung at the Bludger with all his might; the Bludger was knocked off course.

"Gotcha!" Fred yelled happily, but he was wrong; as though it was magnetically attracted to both Harry and I, the Bludger pelted after us once more and we were forced to fly off at full speed.

It had started to rain; Harry and I both felt heavy drops fall onto our faces, splattering onto our glasses. Neither of us had a clue what was going on in the rest of the game until we herd Lee Jordan, who was commentating, say, "Slytherin lead, sixty points to zero -"

The Slytherins' superior brooms were clearly doing their job, and meanwhile the mad Bludger was doing all it could to knock Harry and I out of the air. Fred and George were now flying so close to us on either side that neither Harry nor I could see anything but their flaiting arms and had no chance to look for the Snitch, let along catch it.

"Someone's - tampered - with - this - Bludger -" Fred grunted, swinging his bat with all his might at it as it launched a new attack on us.

"We need time out," George said, trying to signal to Wood and stop the Bludger breaking Harry's nose at the same time.

Wood had obviously got the message. Madam Hooch's whistle rang out and Harry, Fred, George and I dived for the ground, still trying to avoid the mad Bludger.

"What's going on?" Wood said as the Gryffindor team huddled together, while Slytherins in the crowd jeered. "We're being flattened. Fred, George, where were you when that Bludger stopped Angelina scoring?"

"We were twenty feet above her, stopping the other Bludger from murdering Harry and Cheyenne, Oliver," George said angrily. "Someone's fixed it - it won't leave Harry or Cheyenne alone. It hasn't gone for anyone else all game. The Slytherins must have done something to it."

"But the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch's office since ou last practice, and there was nothing wrong with them then. . . ." Wood said, anxiously.

Madam Hooch was walking told us. Over her shoulder, Harry and I could see the Slytherin team jeering and pointing in our direction.

"Listen," Harry said as she came nearer and nearer. "with you two flying around Chey and I all the time the only way I'm going to catch the Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and let us deal with the rogue one."

"Don't be thick," Fred said. "It'll take both your heads off."

Wood was looking from Harry and I to the Weasleys.

"Oliver, this is insane," Alicia Spinnet said angrily. "You can't let Harry and Cheyenne deal with that thing on their own. Let's ask for an inquiry -"

"If we stop now, we'll have to forfeit the match!" Harry and I said together. "And we're not losing to Slytherin just because of a crazy Bludger! Come on, Oliver, tell them to leave us alone!"

"This is all your fault," Fred said angrily to Wood, his hand clenching on his broom. " 'Get the Snitch or die trying,' what a stupid thing to tell them -"

Madam Hooch had joined us.

"Ready to resume play?" she asked Wood.

Wood looked at the determined look on my and Harry's faces.

"All right," he said. "Fred, George, you heard Harry and Cheyenne - leave them alone and let them deal with the Bludger on their own."

The rain was falling more heavily now. On Madam Hooch's whistle, Harry and I kicked hard into the air and heard the telltale whoosh of the Bludger behind us. Higher and higher Harry and I climbed; we looped and swooped, spiraled, zigzagged, and rolled. Both slightly dizzy, we nevertheless kept our eyes wide open, rain speckling our glasses and running up our nostrils as we hung upside down, avoiding another fierce dive from the Bludger. We could hear laughter from the crowd; we knew we must look very stupid, but the rogue Bludger was heavy and couldn't change direction as quickly as Harry or I could; we each began a kind of roller-coaster ride around the edges of the stadium, squinting through the silver sheets of rain to the Gryffindor goal posts, where Adrian Pucey was trying to get past Wood -

A whistling in my ear told me that Bludger had just missed us again; we turned right over and sped in the opposite direction.

"Training for the ballet, Powter?" Malfoy yelled as Harry and I were each forced to do a stupid twirl in midair to dodge the Bludger, and we fled, the Bludger trailing a few feet behind us; and then, glaring back at Malfoy in hatred, we saw it - _the Golden Snitch_. It was hovering inches above Malfoy's left ear - and Malfoy, busy laughing at Harry and I, hadn't seen it.

For an agonizing moment, Harry and I hung in midair, switching between glancing at one another and looking at Malfoy, neither of us daring to speed toward the other boy in case he looked up and saw the Snitch.

WHAM.

We'd stayed still a second too long. The Bludger had hit Harry at last, smashed into his elbow, and from the loud crack that issued during impact, I could tell Harry's arm was broken. My head snapped around to look at him, my eyes widening. I watched as Harry slid sideways on his rain-drenched broom, one knee still crooked over it, his right arm dangling uselessly at his side. I moved closer, putting my hand on his shoulder to keep him upright on the broom. The Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time aiming for my face, but Harry and I swerved out of the way, one idea passing between us and lodged firmly in our minds: _get to Malfoy_.

Through a haze of rain and, in Harry's case, pain, we dived for the shimmering, sneering face below us and saw its eyes widen with fear: Malfoy thought Harry and I were attacking him.

"What the -" he gasped, careening out of our way.

I saw Harry take his remaining hand off his broom and make a wild snatch; his fingers closed on the bright flash of gold. With only his legs gripping the broom, there was a yell from the crowd below as he headed straight for the ground.

I heard the splattering thud as he hit the mud and rolled off his broom. His arm hung at a very strange angle. I could tell from the expression on his face that he was still in a gret deal of pain. Whistles and shouts exploded from the crowd in the stands. I could see the flash of gold clutched in his good hand.

"We've won!" I said happily, but it was quickly replaced by fear as Harry fainted. I could see people rushing onto the field to see Harry. Madam Hooch flew over, followed by Wood. I was just about to fly over myself when Fred's yell caught my attention.

"CHEYENNE! LOOK OUT!"

"Wha -?" I say, turning my head in the direction of the voice. There was a flash of black, my ears were filled with a whooshing noise and sudden pain flashed through my head, starting from a spot behind my right ear. Black spots clouded my vision and my whole body went numb. Before I knew what happened, I was falling, unable to feel anything but emense pain still shooting through my skull.

"Cheyenne! Cheyenne!" Fred's voice sounded far away and he was suddenly next to me, saying something I couldn't really hear or understand. "Fred. . ." I whispered, "I don't. . . understand. . ." I managed to get out before the pain overcame me, my vision was clouded with black and I fell into a deep state of unconsiousness.

Over the next, what I assume is, twelve hours, I faintly remember slipping in and out of consiousness. The Bludger had really hit me hard and effectively enough to immobilize my body for a while. Now I knew how Wood felt when _he'd _taken a Bludger to the head during his very first Quidditch match. During my consious moments, I remember shooting pain in my skull, numbness in my limbs and small snippets of the events tht went on around me. A few of the scenes I remember are of Fred carrying me to the Hospital Wing, seeing Harry in the bed next to mine with his right arm hanging uselessly at his side, and a couple of Madam Pomfrey making him drink something, a steaming potion, out of a beaker. When I awoke again, it was nighttime.

Consiousness slowly flooded me again and I slowly allowed my eyes to open, finding only pitch blackness. The pain in my head had lessened and I could feel a tingling sensation, like pins and needles, shooting through my limbs. I remember hearing a small yelp to my right and allowed my neck to roll my head to the side so I could see Harry in his bed. I could see Harry's figure lying prone on his bed, a smaller figure standing over him, sponging his forehead? I pushed myself upright, being careful to go slowly so I wouldn't knock myself out again.

"Get off!" Harry said loudly, then, "_Dobby_!"

With a thrill of surprise, I finally noticed that it _was _the house-elf, his bat like ears and wrinkled pillowcase becoming more noticable in the darkness.

"Dobby? What're you doing here?" I asked, tentively reaching back and allowing my fingertips to graze the tender flesh behind my ear.

"Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power came back to school," Dobby said miserably. "Dobby warned and warned Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power. Ah, sir and miss, why didn't either of you heed Dobby? Why didn't Harry Potter go home when he missed the train?"

I was seized by a sudden realization.

"It was _you_!" I said before Harry could speak. "_You _stopped the barrier from letting Harry and Ron through!"

"Indeed yes, miss," Dobby said, nodding his head vigorously, his ears flapping. "Dobby hid and watched for Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power. Dobby couldn't seal the barrier when Cheyenne Power went through least it draw too much attention, but he sealed it for Harry Potter in hopes that Cheyenne Power would choose to go home, too. Dobby had to iron his hands, sir and miss" - A weak ray of moonlight lit up a bandage on one of Dobby's ten bandaged fingers - "but Dobby didn't care, for he thought Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power was safe, and _never _did Dobby dream that Harry Potter would get to school another way!"

He was rocking back and forth now, shaking his ugly head.

"Dobby was so shocked when he heard Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power were back at Hogwarts, he let his master's dinner burn! Such a flogging Dobby never had, sir. . . ."

I saw Harry slump back onto his pillow.

"You nearly got Ron and me expelled," he said fiercely. "_And _you almost gave Chey a panic attack! You'd better get lost before my bones come back, Dobby, or I might strangle you."

I caught a glimpse of a weak smile on Dobby's face.

"Dobby is used to death threats, sir. Dobby gets them five times a day at home."

He blew his nose on a corner of the filthy pillowcase he wore, looking so pathetic that empathy flooded me at the sight.

"Why d'you wear that thing, Dobby?" we asked curiously.

"This, sir and miss?" Dobby said, plucking at the pillowcase. " 'Tis a mark of the house-elf's enslavement. Dobby can only be freed if his masters present him with clothes. The family is careful not to pass Dobby even a sock, for then he would be free to leave their house forever."

Dobby mopped his bulging eyes and said suddenly, "Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power _must _go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make -"

"_Your _Bludger?" Harry said, anger rising in his voice. "What d'you mean, _your _Bludger? _You _made that Bludger try and kill us?"

"Not kill you, sir and miss, never kill neither of you!" Dobby said, shocked. "Dobby wants to save Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power's lives! Better sent home, grievously injured, then remain here! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power hurt enough to be sent home!"

"Oh, is that all?" Harry snapped angrily. "I don't suppose you're going to tell us _why _you wanted us sent home in pieces?"

"Ah, if Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power only knew!" Dobby groaned, more tears dripping onto his ragged pillowcase. "If they knew what they mean to us, to the lowly, the enslaved, we dregs of the magical world! Dobby remembers how it was when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height of his powers! We house-elfs were treated like vermin! Of course, Dobby is still treated like vermin," he admitted, drying his face on the pillowcase. "But mostly, sir and miss, life had improved for my kind since you both triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power survived, and the Dark Lord's power was broken, and it was a new dawn, and Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power shone like beacons of hope for those of us who thought the Dark days would never end, sir and miss. . . .And now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps happening already, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more -"

Dobby froze, horrorstruck, then grabbed Harry's water jug from his bedside table and cracked it over his own head, toppling out of sight. A second later, he crawled back onto the bed, cross-eyed, muttering, "Bad Dobby, very bad Dobby. . ."

"So there _is _a Chamber of Secrets?" Harry and I whispered together, glancing at one another. "And - did you say it's been opened _before_? _Tell _us, Dobby!"

He seized the elf's bony wrist as Dobby's hand inched toward the water jug. "But neither of us are Muggle-born - how can we be in danger from the Chamber?"

"Ah, sir, ask no more, ask no more of poor Dobby!" the elf stammered, his eyes huge in the dark. "Dark deeds are planned in this place, but Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power must not be here when they happen - go home, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power, go home. Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power must not meddle in this, sir and miss, 'tis too dangerous -"

"Who is it, Dobby?" Harry asked, keeping a firm grasp on Dobby's wrist to stop him from hitting himself with the water jug again. "Who's opened it? Who opened it last time?"

"Dobby can't, sir, Dobby can't. Dobby mustn't tell!" the elf squealed. "Go home, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power, go home!"

"Neither of us is going anywhere!" Harry and I said fiercely. "One of our best friends is Muggle-born; she'll be first in line if the Chamber really has been opened -"

"Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power risk their lives for their friends!" Dobby moaned in a kind of miserable ecstast. "So noble! So valiant! But they must save themselves, they must, neither Harry Potter nor Cheyenne Power must -"

Dobby suddenly froze, his bat ears quivering. Harry and I heard it, too. There were footsteps coming down the passageway outside.

"Dobby must go!" the elf breathed, terrified." There was a loud crack, and he was gone. We slumped back into bed, our eyes on the dark doorway to the hospital wing as the footsteps drew nearer.

Next moment, Dumbledore was backing into the dormitory, wearing a long woolly dressing gown and a nightcap. He was carrying one end of what looked like a statue. Professor McGonagall appeared a second later, carrying its feet. Together, they heaved it onto a bed.

"Get Madam Pomfrey," Dumbledore whispered, and Professor McGonagall hurried past the ends of my and Harry's beds out of sight. Both Harry and I lay quite still, pretending to be asleep. We heard urgent voices, and then Professor McGonagall swept back into view, closely followed by Madam Pomfrey, who was pulling a cardigan on over her nightdress. We heard a sharp intake of breath.

"What happened?" Madam Pomfrey whispered to Dumbledore, bending over the statue on the bed.

"Another attack," Dumbledore said. "Minerva found him on the stairs."

"There was a bunch of grapes next to him," Professor McGonagall said. "We think he was trying to sneak up here to vist Potter and Power."

My stomach suddenly twisted into a very big pretzel. Slowly and carefully, Harry and I raised ourselves a few inches so we could look at the statue on the bed. A ray of moonlight lay across its staring face.

It was Colin Creevey. His eyes were wide and his hands were stuck up in front of him, holding his camera.

"Petrified?" Madam Pomfrey whispered.

"Yes," Professor McGonagall said. "But I shudder to think. . .If Albus hadn't been on the way downstairs for hot chocolate - who knows what might have -"

The three of them stared down at Colin. Then Dumbledore leaned forward and wrenched the camera out of Colin's rigid grip.

"You don't think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?" Professor McGonagall asked eagerly.

Dumbledore didn't answer. He opened the back of the camera.

"Good gracious!" Madam Pomfrey said.

A jet of steam had hissed out of the camera. Harry and I, three and four beds away, both caught the acrid smell of burnt plastic.

"Melted," Madam Pomfrey said wonderingly. "All melted. . ."

"What does this _mean, _Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked urgently.

"It means," Dumbledore said, "that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again."

Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth. Professor McGonagall stared at Dumbledore.

"But, Albus. . .surely. . ._who_?"

"The question is not _who_," Dumbledore said, his eyes on Colin. "The question is, _how_. . . ."

And from what I could make out of Professor McGonagall's shadowy face, she didn't understand this any better than I or Harry did.


	11. The Dueling Club

**Chapter Eleven**

**The Dueling Club**

Harry and I both woke up on Sunday morning to find the dormitory blazing with winter sunlight, my head feeling a millions times better, and his arm reboned, but feeling stiff. We both sat up quickly and looked over at Colin's bed, but it had been blocked from view by a pair of high curtains. Seeing that we were both awake, Madam Pomfrey came bustling over with a couple of breakfast trays and then began bending and stretching his arm and fingers.

"All in order," she said as he clumsily fed himself porridge left-handed. Madam Pomfrey came over to me and had me turn my head so she could see behind my ear. She gently prodded the tender area, making me flinch when she touched an area where it was really sensitive. She clicked her tongue once and pulled away, "All right, you're gonna be all right as well, just be sure not to put pressure on that one spot or you could pass out again. Once you've both finished eating, you may leave."

Once Harry was dressed, we hurried off for Gryffindor Tower, desperate to tell Ron and Hermione about Colin and Dobby, but they weren't there. Harry and I left to look for them, wondering where they could have got to and feeling slightly hurt that they weren't interested in whether he had his bones back, or if my head was feeling better.

We bumped into Fred and George on the stairs and they asked how we were feeling, Fred directing his full attention on me. Harry and I reassured the twins we were fine and I thanked Fred for carrying me to the Hospital Wing the day before. He said he'd been happy to do it and said he'd like to hang out later. I said I'd like that and hurried off with Harry to find Ron and Hermione. Harry grinned at me.

"So, I go for a car ride in the clouds and get my bones broken annnnnd _you_ get closer to Fred, huh? That seems a bit unfair. . ." He said, putting on a fake puppy dog face.

I glared playfully at him and gently shoved his shoulder, "Oh, shush, will you? Let's just find Ron and Hermione." I said, but still unable to hide the smile slithering across my lips.

We were just passing the library now. Percy Weasley strolled out of it, looking in far better spirits than last time we'd met.

"Oh, hello, Harry, Cheyenne," he said. "Excellent flying yesterday, really excellent. Gryffindor has just taken the lead for the House Cup - you both earned fifty points."

"You haven't seen Ron or Hermione, have you?" Harry and I asked together.

"No, I haven't," Percy said, his smile fading some, but still tweaking at the corners at hearing Harry and I speaking at the same time. 'I hope Ron's not in another _girls' toilet_. . . ."

Harry and I forced a couple of laughs, watched Percy walk out of sight, and then headed straight for Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. We couldn't see why Ron and Hermione would be in there again, but after making sure that neither Filch nor any prefects were around, we opened the door and heard their voices coming from a locked stall.

"It's us," we said, closing the door behind us. There was a clunk, a splash, and a gasp from within the stall and we saw Hermione's eye peering through the keyhole.

"_Harry! Cheyenne!"_ she said. "You both gave us such a fright - come in - how's your arm and head?"

"Fine," We said, squeezing into the stall. It was a good think we were both so skinny or we wouldn't have fit. An old cauldron was perched on the toilet, and a crackling from under the rim told Harry and I they had lit a fire beneath it. Conjuring up portable, waterproof fires was a speciality of Hermione's.

"We'd've come to meet you two, but we decided to get started on the Polyjuice Potion," Ron explained as Harry, with difficulty, locked the stall again. "We've decided this is the safest place to hide it."

Harry started to tell them about Colin, but Hermione interrupted.

"We already know - we heard Professor McGonagall telling Professor Flitwick this morning. That's why we decided we'd better get going -"

"The sooner we get a confession out of Malfoy, the better," Ron snarled. "D'you know what I think? He was in such a foul temper after the Quidditch match, he took it out on Colin."

"There's something else," Harry said as I helped Hermione tear bundles of knotgrass and throw them into the potion. "Dobby came to visit us in the middle of the night."

Ron and Hermione looked up, amazed. Harry and I told them everything Dobby had told us - or hadn't told us. Hermione and Ron listened with their mouths open.

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened _before_?" Hermione said.

"This settles it," Ron said in a triumphant voice. "Lucius Malfoy must've opened the Chamber when he was at school here and now he's told dear old Draco how to do it. It's obvious. Wish Dobby'd told you two what kind of monster's in there, though. I want to know how come nobody's noticed it sneaking around the school."

"Maybe it can make itself invisible," Hermione said, prodding leeches to the bottom of the cauldron. "Or maybe it can disguise itself - pretend to be a suit of armor or something - I've read about Chameleon Ghouls -"

"You read too much, Hermione, you and Cheyenne," Ron said, pouring dead lacewings on top of the leeches. He crumpled up the empty lacewing bag and looked at Harry and I.

"So Dobby stopped us from getting on the train and broke your arm. . . .and hit you in the head. . ." He said, looking at me. He shook his head. "You know what, Harry, Chey? If he doesn't stop trying to save your lives he's going to kill you both."

The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying as though dead in the hospital wing had spread through the entire school by Monday morning. The air was suddenly thick with rumor and suspicion. The first years were now moving around the castle in tight-knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked if they ventured forth alone.

Ginny Weasley, who sat next to Colin Creevey in Charms, was distraught, but both Harry and I felt that Fred and George were going the wrong way about cheering her up. They were taking turns covering themselves with fur or boils and jumping out at her from behind statues. They only stopped when Percy, apoplectic with rage, told them he was going to write to Mrs. Weasley and tell her Ginny was having nightmares.

Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a roaring trade in talismans, amulets, and other protective devices was sweeping the school. Neville Longbottom bought a large, evil-smelling green onion, a pointed purple crystal, and a rotting newt tail before the other Gryffindor boys pointed out that he was in no danger; he was a pure-blood, and therefore unlikely to be attacked.

"They went for Filch first," Neville said, his round face fearful. "And everyone knows I'm almost a Squib."

In the second week of December Professor McGonagall came around as usual, collecting names of those who would be staying at school for Christmas. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I signed her list; we heard that Malfoy was staying, which struck us as very suspicious. The holidays would be the perfect time to use the Polyjuice Potion and try to worm a confession out of him.

Unfortunately, the potion was only half finished. We still needed the bicorn horn and the boomslang skin, and the only place we were going to get them was from Snape's private stores. Harry and I privately felt we'd rather face Slytherin's legendary monster than let Snape catch us robbing his office.

"What we need," Hermione said briskly as Thursday afternoon's double Potion's lesson loomed nearer, "is a diversion. Then one of us can sneak into Snape's office and take what we need."

Harry, Ron and I looked at her nervously.

"I think I'd better do the actual stealing," Hermione continued in a matter-of-fact tone. "Harry, Ron, you'll both be expelled if you get into any more trouble, and I've got a clean record. So all you need to do is cause enough mayham to keep Snape busy for five minutes or so."

Harry and I looked at each other, smiling feebly. Deliberately causing mayham in Snape's Potions class was about as safe as poking a sleeping dragon in the eye.

Potions lessons took place in one of the large dungeons. Thursday afternoon's lesson proceeded in the usual way. Twenty cauldrons stood steaming between the wood desks, on which stood brass scales and jars of ingredients. Snape prowled through the fumes, making waspish remarks about the Gryffindors' work while the Slytherins sniggered appreciatively. Draco Malfoy, Snape's favorite student, kept flicking puffer-fish eyes at Ron and Harry. I reminded myself not to retaliate least Snape put me in detention.

Harry's Swelling Solution looked far too runny, but I knew he had far more important things on his mind. He was waiting for Hermione's signal, and he didn't look to be listening as Snape paused to sneer at his watery potion. When Snape turned and walked off to bully Neville, Hermione caught Harry's eye and nodded.

Hermione and I watched Harry duck swiftly down behind his cauldron, pull one of Fred's Filibuster fireworks out of his pocket, and give it a quick prod with his wand. The firework began to fizz and sputter. With only seconds to act, Harry straightened up, took aim, and lobbed it into the air; it landed right on target in Goyle's cauldron.

Goyle's potion exploded, showering the whole class. People shrieked as splashes of the Swelling Solution hit them. Malfoy got a faceful and his nose began to swell like a balloon; Goyle blundered around, his hands over his eyes, which had expanded to the size of dinner plates - Snape was trying to restore calm and find out what had happened. Through the confusion, Harry and I saw Hermione slip quietly into Snape's office.

"Silence! SILENCE!" Snape roared. "Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draft - when I find out who did this -"

Harry and I tried not to laugh as we watched Malfoy hurry forward, his head drooping with the weight of a nose like a small melon. As half the class lumbered up to Snape's desk, some weighed down with arms like clubs, others unable to talk through gigantic puffed-up lips, Harry and I saw Hermione slid back into the dungeon, the front of her robes bulging.

When everyone had taken a swig of antidote and the various swellings had subsided, Snape swept over to Goyle's cauldron and scooped out the twisted black remains of the firework. There was a sudden hush.

"If I ever find out who threw this," Snape whispered, "I shall _make sure_ that person, or persons, are expelled."

I pretended to be interested in the ingredient I had in front of me as Harry arranged his face into a puzzled expression. Snape was looking right at us, and the bell that rang ten minutes later could not have been more welcome.

"He knew it was me," Harry told Ron and Hermione as we hurried back to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. "I could tell."

Hermione threw the new ingredients into the cauldron and began to stir feverishly.

"It'll be ready in two weeks," she said happily.

"Snape can't prove it was you," Ron said reassuringly to Harry. "What can he do?"

"Knowing Snape, something foul," I said as the potion frothed and bubbled.

A week later, Harry, Ron, Hermione and I were walking across the entrance hall when we saw a small knot of people gathered around the notice board, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas beckoned us over, looking excited.

"They're starting a Dueling Club!" Seamus said. "First meeting tonight! I wouldn't mind dueling lessons; they might come in handy one of these days. . . ."

"What, you reckon Slytherin's monster can duel?" Ron asked, but he, too, read the sign with interest.

"Could be useful," he said to Harry, Hermione and I as we went into dinner. "Shall we go?"

Harry, Hermione and I were all for it, so at eight o'clock that evening we hurried back to the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.

"I wonder who'll be teaching us?" Hermione said as we edged into the chattering crowd. "Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young - maybe it'll be him."

"As long as it's not -" Harry and I began together, but ended on a couple of groans: Gilderoy Lockhart was walking onto the stage, dressed in robes of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing his usual black.

Lockhart waved his arm for silence and called, "Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!

"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions - for full details, see my published works.

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," Lockhart said, flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't wany any of you youngsters to worry - you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"

"Wouldn't it be good if they finished each other off?" I heard Ron mutter to Harry.

From the look on Snape's face, I was more worried of the spells he could _inflict_, not _indure_. Before the night ended, Lockhart was sure to be laying injured in the Hospital Wing. Snape's upper lip was curling. I vaguely wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at _me _like that I'd have been running as fast as I could in the opposite direction.

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

"Oh, I wouldn't bet on that," Harry murmured to me as we watched Snape baring his teeth.

"One - two - three -"

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: _"Expelliarmus!" _There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Malfoy and a few of the other Slytherins cheered. Hermione was dancing on tiptoes. "Do you think he's all right?" she squealed through her fingers.

"Who cares?" Harry, Ron and I said together even as empathy flashed through me.

Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end.

"Well, there you have it!" he said, trotting back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm - as you see, I've lost my wand - ah, thank you, Miss Brown - yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy - however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see. . ."

Snape was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because he said, "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me -"

They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley, but Snape reached Harry, Ron, Hermione and I first.

"Time to split up the dream teams, I think," he sneered. "Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter -"

Harry moved automatically toward Hermione and myself.

"I don't think so," Snape said, smiling coldly. "Mr. Malfoy, come over here. Let's see what you make of the famous Potter. Power, you can partner with Parkinson. And you, Miss Granger - you can partner Miss Bulstrode."

Malfoy strutted over, smirking. Behind him walked a couple of Slytherin girls, one of them reminding Harry and I of a picture we'd seen in _Holidays with Hags_. She was large and square and her heavy jaw jutted aggressively. The other girl looked more like a pug. Hermione gave her partner a weak smile that she did not return while I exchanged evil looks with mine.

"Face your partners!" Lockhart said, back on the platform. "And bow!"

Parkinson and I just inclined our heads, never taking our eyes off each other. My knuckles cracked as I tightened my hand on my wand.

"Wands at the ready!" Lockhart shouted. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents - _only _to disarm them - we don't want any accidents - one. . .two. . . three -"

I waved my wand and shouted, "_Expelliarmus!"_ Before Parkinson could cast a charm on me. Her wand flew from her hand, landing ten feet away and skidding out of view among the other dueling pairs.

_"I said disarm only!"_ I heard Lockhart shout in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd and I turned my head to see what was going on. Malfoy was on his knees on the floor, laughing. I guessed Harry had hit him with a tickling charm and was glad to see he wasn't attacking him farther since the blond boy was under the tickling charms attack. But that was a mistake, because Malfoy, gasping for breath, pointed his wand at Harry's knees, and choked out, _"Tarantallegra!" _and the next second Harry's legs began to jerk around out of his control in a weird kind of quickstep.

I didn't see anymore as something hit me in the back and I fell to my knees on the floor, feeling someone on my back, a long nailed hand knotting in my long hair and tugging, hard. I yelped in pain, my hand releasing my wand as I reached back and gripped some of my attacker's hair, giving a great yank. A couple of hairs fell loose and the person tugged harder on my hair with a snarl. Using all my might, I pushed myself backwards and landed on my attacker on the floor, hearing the breath escape them in a loud huff. The grip on my hair loosened and I thrust my arm backward, my elbow connecting with the person's ribs. There was a yelp from beneath me and I quickly rolled off my attacker, onto my hands and knees. Pansy Parkinson lay on the ground, gasping for breath, cradling her bruised side. "Dirty cheat," I growled, standing and looking around quickly.

A haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene. Both Neville and Justin were lying on the floor, panting; Ron was holding up an ashen-faced Seamus, apologizing for whatever his broken wand had done; Hermione and Millicent Bulstrode were still moving, however; Millicent had Hermione in a headlock and Hermione was whimpering in pain, both their wands lay forgotten on the floor. I sprang at them, my nails scoring across Millicent's arm as I stomped, hard, on her foot and snarled in her face, "Release her before I break your nose," She glared down at me with malice, not releasing Hermione until Harry pulled her off, which looked quite difficult considering she was a lot bigger than he was.

"Dear, dear," Lockhart said, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. "Up you go, Macmillan. . . .Careful there, Miss Fawcett. . . .Pinch it hard, it'll stop bleeding in a second, Boot -"

"I think I'd better teach you how to _block_ unfriendly spells," Lockhart said, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away. "Let's have a volunteer pair - Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you -"

"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," Snape said, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox." Neville's round, pink face went pinker. "How about Malfoy and Potter?" Snape said with a twisted smile.

"Excellent idea!" Lockhart said, gesturing Harry and Malfoy into the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give them room.

I was helping Ron with Hermione as Lockhart was giving Harry advice on what to do. We were making sure she was well, asking if she needed to go to the Hospital Wing, but she said she was fine and didn't need medical attention. We brought her closer so we could get a good view of the battle, glancing between Harry and Ron. Lockhart was getting ready to start the duel.

"Three - two - one - go!" he shouted quickly.

Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, _"Serpensortia!"_

The end of his wand exploded. We watched, aghast, as a long black snake shot out of it, falling heavily onto the floor between Harry and Malfoy, and raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the rest of the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor. Ron and Hermione had backed way as well, leaving me in the middle of the floor with the two boys and the snake.

"Don't move, Potter," Snape said lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake. "I'll get rid of it. . . ."

"Allow me!" Lockhart shouted. He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike.

Before I could stop myself, my feet had carried me over to the snake and Justin with a fast walk and I got myself between them. I put out my arms to mean he couldn't pass and stared down at the black snake, eye to eye, like he'd been doing with Harry just a moment ago. Harry's legs suddenly carried him closer as well and we both shouted stupidly, "Leave him alone!" And miraculously - inexplicably - the snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose, its eyes shifting back and forth between Harry and myself. The fear slowly drained out of me and I knew the snake wouldn't attack anyone now and from Harry's expression, he knew too, but how we knew it, we couldn't have explained.

I turned my head quickly to check on Justin, expecting he was probably still frightened, when I felt a couple of hands shove me hard in the back. I stumbled forward, almost falling to my knees when Harry caught my shoulders and held me up. We quickly looked around at Justin, who was looking both angry and scared.

"What do you two think you're playing at?" he shouted and before either of us could say anything, Justin had turned and stormed out of the hall.

Snape stepped forward, waved his wand, and the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke. Snape, too, was looking at Harry and I in an unexpected way. It was a shewd and calculating look, and neither of us liked it. We were also dimly aware of an ominous muttering all around the walls. Then we felt a tugging on the back of our robes.

"Come on," Ron's voice said in my ear as Hermione took me from Harry's arms and quickly moved me away. "Move - come _on_ -"

Hermione pulled me along with her, Ron steering Harry behind us as we hurried out of the hall. As we went through the doors, the people on either side drew away as though they were frightened of catching something. Neither Harry nor I had any clue what was going on and we didn't receive an explaination from either our friends until they had dragged us all the way up to the empty Gryffindor common room. Then Ron pushed Harry into an armchair, Hermione sitting me on the couch next to him, and Ron said, "You're Parselmouths. Why didn't either of you tell us?"

"We're what?" Harry and I asked, confused.

"_Parselmouths!" _Ron said. "You two can talk to snakes!"

"We know," Harry said, glancing at me. "I mean, that's only the second time we've ever done it. We accidentally set a boa constrictor on our cousin Dudley at the zoo once - long story - but it was telling us it had never seen Brazil and we sort of set it free without meaning to - that was before we knew we were a witch and wizard -"

"A boa constrictor told you two it had never seen Brazil?" Ron repeated faintly.

"So?" I said. "I bet loads of people here can do it."

"Oh, no they can't," Ron said. "It's not a very common gift, Chey, this is bad."

"What's bad?" Harry asked, anger filling his voice. I moved to sit on the arm of the chair and gently rubbed his shoulder to calm him. "What's wrong with everyone? Listen, if we hadn't told that snake not to attack Justin -"

"Oh, that's what you both said to it?"

"What d'you mean? You were there - you heard us -"

"I heard you both speaking Parseltongue," Ron said. "Snake language. You two could have been saying anything - no wonder Justin panicked, you both sounded like you were egging the snake on or something - it was creepy, you know -"

Harry and I gaped at him.

"We spoke a different language? But - Neither of us realized - how can we speak a language without knowing we can speak it?"

Ron shook his head. Both he and Hermione were looking as though someone had died. Neither Harry nor I could see what was so terrible.

"D'you want to tell us what's wrong with stopping a massive snake biting off Justin's head?" we said. "What does it matter _how _we did it as long as Justin doesn't have to join the Headless Hunt?"

"It matters," Hermione said, speaking at last in a hushed voice, "because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That's why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent."

Harry and I looked at each other, horror-struck.

"Exactly," Ron said. "And now the whole school's going to think you're his great-great-great-great-grandchildren or something -"

"But we're not," Harry and I said together, panic shooting through us for an unexplained reason. "W-we're. . . .we're not even. . .blood related. . . ."

"You'll both find that hard to prove," Hermione said. "He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you two could be."

I couldn't sleep at all that night. Rather than try and lay in bed and get comfortable, I'd decided to sit on the windowsill with my pillow behind me and my blanket wrapped around me to keep warm. I stared silently into the dark sky, watching as soft flakes began drifting past the glass. I blinked slowly, fingering the necklace hunging loosely around my neck.

_Could _I be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin? Could both Harry and I be his descendents? Neither of us knew a thing about our fathers' family, after all. The Dursleys had always forbidden questions about our wizarding relatives. For all we knew, Harry and I _could _be blood related after all.

Licking my lips, I tried to whisper something in Parseltongue, but the words wouldn't come. I guessed I had to be in close range with a snake to speak Parseltongue.

_But I'm in Gryffindor. . .Both Harry and I are,"_I thought, clenching a fist in my blankets. _The Sorting Hat wouldn't have put me in here if I had Slytherin blood. . . ._

_Ah,_ a nasty little voice spoke from the back of my brain, _but the Sorting Hat _wanted_ to put you in Slytherin, both you and Potter, don't you remember?_

I slid down some on the windowsill, pulling the blanket tighter around my figure. Harry and I would see Justin tomorrow in Herbology and we'd explain that we'd been calling the snake off, not egging it on, which (I thought, slightly angrily) any fool should have realized. I'd even put myself in between them to stop that snake. . .he shouldn't have thought I was egging it on. . . .

By the next morning, however, the snow that had begun in the night had turned into a blizzard so thick that the last Herbology lesson of the term was canceled: Professor Sprout wanted to fit socks and scarves on the Mandrakes, a tricky operation she would entrust to no one else, now that it was so important for the Mandrakes to grow quickly and revive Mrs. Norris and Colin Creevey.

Harry and I sat in chairs next to the fire, Ron and Hermione playing a game of wizard chess to pass time until our next lesson. I was sewing a hole in one of my uniforms, a skill I'd picked up from Mrs. Weasley while we'd been visiting during the summer. Harry fretted about not getting to see Justin and explain things, continually moving at least one part of his body.

"For heaven's sake, Harry," Hermione said, exasperated, as one of Ron's bishops wrestled her knight off his horse and dragged him off the board. "You and Chey should go and _find _Justin if it's so important to you."

So, tying the thread before snapping off the extra with my teeth, I put my sewing needle and thread away and left the kit on the common room table with my uniform before following Harry through the portrait hole, both of us wondering where Justin might be.

The castle was darker than it usually was in daytime because of the thick, swirling gray snow at every window. Both of us shivering, Harry and I walked past classrooms where lessons were taking place, catching snatches of what was happening within. Professor McGonagall was shouting at someone who, by the sound of it, had turned his friend into a badger. Resisting the urge to take a look, Harry and I walked on by, thinking that Justin might be using his free time to catch up on some work, and we decided to check the library first.

A group of the Hufflepuffs who should have been in Herbology were indeed sitting at the back of the library, but they didn't seem to be working. Between the long lines of high bookselves, Harry and I could see that their heads were close together and they were having what looked like an absorbing conversation. We couldn't see whether Justin was among them. We were walking toward them when something of what they were saying met our ears, and we paused to listen, hidden in the Invisibility section.

"So anyway," a stout boy was saying, "I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter and Power've marked him down as their next victim, it's best if he keeps a low profile for a while. Of course, Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter and Power that he was Muggle-born. Justin actually _told _them he'd been down for Eton. That's not the kind of thing you bandy about with Slytherin's heirs on the loose, is it?"

"You definitely think it _is _Potter and Power, then, Ernie?" a girl with blond pigtails asked anxiously.

"Hannah," the stout boy said solemnly, "they're Parseltmouths. Everyone knows that's the mark of a Dark witch or wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes? They called Slytherin himself Serpent-tongue."

There was some heavy murmuring at this, and Ernie went on, "Remember what was written on the wall? _Enemies of the Heir, Beware_. Both Potter and Power had some sort of run-in with Filch. Next thing you know, Filch's cat's attacked. That first year, Creevey, was annoying Potter at the Quidditch match, taking pictures of him and Power while they were lying in the mud. Next thing we know - Creevey's been attacked."

"They always seem so nice, though," Hannah said uncertainly, "and, well, they're the ones who made You-Know-Who disappear. They can't be all bad, can they?"

Ernie lowered his voice mysteriously, the Hufflepuffs bent closer, and Harry and I edged nearer so that we could catch Ernie's words.

"No one knows how they survived that attack by You-Know-Who. I mean to say, they were only babies when it happened. They should have both been blasted into smithereens. Only a really powerful Dark wizard could have survived a curse like that." He dropped his voice until it was barely more than a whisper, and said, "_That's _probably why You-Know-Who wanted to kill them in the first place. Didn't want another Dark Lord and his mistress _competing _with him. I wonder what other powers Potter and Power've been hiding?"

Neither Harry nor I could take anymore. Clearing our throats loudly, we stepped out from behind the bookselves. If we hadn't been feeling so angry, we would have found the sight that greeted us funny: Every one of the Hufflepuffs looked as though they had been Petrified by the sight of us, and the color was draining out of Ernie's face.

"Hello," Harry and I said together. "We're looking for Justin Finch-Fletchley."

The Hufflepuffs' worst fears had clearly been confirmed. They all look fearfully at Ernie.

"What do you two want with him?" Ernie asked in a quavering voice.

"We wanted to tell him what really happened with that snake at the Dueling Club," We replied.

Ernie bit his white lips and then, taking a deep breath, said, "We were all there. We saw what happened."

"Then you noticed that after we spoke to it, the snake backed off?" Harry said,

"All I saw," Ernie said stubbornly, though he was trembling as he spoke, "was you both speaking Parseltongue and chasing the snake toward Justin."

"We didn't chase it at him!" I snapped angrily. "It didn't even _touch _him! And what do you call me putting myself between that snake and Justin, anyway?"

"It was a very near miss," Ernie said. "And in case either of you're getting ideas," he added hastily, "I might tell you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks and my blood's as pure as anyone's, so -"

"We don't care what sort of blood you've got!" Harry growled fiercely. "Why would we want to attack Muggle-borns?"

"I've heard you both hate those Muggles you live with," Ernie said swiftly.

"It's not possible to live with the Dursleys and not hate them," I snorted. "We'd like to see you try it."

We turned on our heels and stormed out of the library, earning ourselves each a reproving glare from Madam Pince, who was polishing the gilded cover of a large spellbook.

Harry and I blundered up the corridor, barely noticing where we were going, we were in such furies. The result was that we walked into something very large and solid, which knocked us both backward onto the floor.

"Oh, hello, Hagrid," Harry said as we both looked up.

Hagrid's face was entirely hidden by a woolly, snow-covered balaclva, but it couldn't possibly be anyone else, as he filled most of the corridor in his moleskin overcoat. A dead rooster was hanging from one of his massive, gloved hands.

"All righ', Harry, Cheyenne?" he said, pulling up the balaclava so he could speak. "Why aren't yeh in class?"

"Canceled," Harry and I said, getting up. "What're you doing in here?"

Hagrid held up the limp rooster.

"Second one killed this term," he explained. "It's either foxes or a Blood-Suckin' Bugbear, an' I need the Headmaster's permission ter put a charm around the hen coop."

He peered more closely at both Harry and I from under his thick, snow-flecked eyebrows.

"Yeh sure yeh're both all righ'? Yeh look all hot an' bothered -"

Neither Harry nor I could bring ourselves to repeat what Ernie and the rest of the Hufflepuffs had been saying about us.

"It's nothing," we said. "We'd better get going Hagrid, it's Transfiguration next and we've got to pick up our books."

We walked off, our minds still full of what Ernie had said about us.

_"Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter and Power he was Muggle-born. . . ."_

I shuffled off after Harry as he stamped up the stairs and we turned along another corridor, which was particularly dark; the torches had been extinguished by a strong, icy draft that was blowing through a loose windowpane. I shivered, feeling unease work it's way through my mind. I slowly followed Harry halfway down the passage when we both tripped headlong over something lying on the floor, landing on top of one another.

I quickly rolled off Harry and sat up, squinting at what we'd fallen over and felt as though my stomach had dissolved.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on the floor, rigid and cold, a look of shock frozen on his face, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. And that wasn't all. Next to him was another figure, the strangest sight both Harry and I had ever seen.

It was Nearly Headless Nick, no longer pearly-white and transparent, but black and smoky, floating immobile nd horizontal, six inches off the floor. His head was half off and his face wore an expression of shock identical to Justin's.

Harry scrambled to his feet and seized me by the armpits, hauling me up. We were both breathing fast and shallow, our hearts beating hard and fast against our ribcages. We both looked wildly up and down the deserted corridor and saw a line of spiders scuttling as fast as they could away from the bodies. The only sounds were the muffled voices of teachers from the classes on either side.

We could run, and one one would ever know we had been there. But we couldn't just leave them lying here. . . .We had to get help. . . .Would anyone believe we hadn't had anything to do with this?

As we stood there, panicking, a door right next to us opened with a bang. Peeves the Poltergeist came shooting out.

"Why, it's power potty wee Powter!" Peeves cackled, knocking both our glasses askew as he bounced past us. "What's Powter up to? Why's Powter lurking -"

Peeves stopped, halfway through a midair somersault. Upside down, he spotted Justin and Nearly Headless Nick. He flipped the right way up, filled his lungs and, before either Harry or I could stop him, screamed, "ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!"

Crash - crash - crash - door after door flew open along the corridor and people flooded out. For several long minutes, there was a scene of such confusion that Justin was in danger of being squashed and people kept standing in Nearly Headless Nick. Harry was pinned between me and I wall as the teachers shouted for quiet. Professor McGonagall came running, followed by her own class, one of whom still had black-and-white-striped hair. She used her wand to set off a loud bang, which restored silence, and ordered everyone back into their classes. No sooner had the scene cleared somewhat than Ernie the Hufflepuff arrived, panting.

_"Caught in the act!" _Ernie yelled, his face stark white, pointing his finger dramatically at Harry and I.

"That will do, Macmillan!" Professor McGonagall said sharply.

Peeves was bobbing overhead, now grinning wickedly, surveying the scene; Peeves always loved chaos. As the teachers bent over Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, examining them, Peeves broke into song:

_Oh, Powter, you rotters, oh, what have you done, _

_You're killing off students, you think it's good fun -_

"That's enough, Peeves!" Professor McGonagall barked, and Peeves zoomed away backward, with his tongue out at both Harry and myself.

Justin was carried up to the hospital wing by Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department, but nobody seemed to know what to do for Nearly Headless Nick. In the end, Professor McGonagall conjured a large fan out of thin air, which she gave to Ernie with instructions to waft Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs. This Ernie did, fanning Nick along like a silent black hovercraft. This left Harry, Professor McGonagall and I alone together.

"This way, Potter, Power," she said.

"Professor," Harry and I said at once, "We swear we didn't -"

"This is out of my hands, Potter, Power," Professor McGonagall said curtly.

We marched in silence around a corner and she stopped before a large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle.

"Lemon drop!" she said. This was evidently a passward, because the gargoyle sprang suddenly to life and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two. Even full of dread for what was coming, neither Harry nor I could fail to be amazed. Behind the wall was a spiral staircase that was moving smoothly upward. like an escalator. As Harry, Professor McGonagall and I stepped onto it, both of us heard the wall thud closed behind us. We rose upward in circles, higher and higher, until at last, slightly dizzy, Harry and I saw a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.

We knew now where we were being taken. This must be where Dumbledore lived.


	12. The Polyjuice Potion

**Chapter Twelve**

**The Polyjuice Potion**

We stepped off the stone staircase at the top, and Professor McGonagall rapped on the door. It opened silently and we entered. Professor McGonagall told Harry and I to wait and left us there, alone.

Harry and I looked around. One thing was certain: of all the teachers' offices either Harry or I had visited so far this year, Dumbledore's was by far the most interesting. If we hadn't been scared out of our wits that we were about to be thrown out of school, we would have been very pleased to have a chance to look around it.

It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tattered wizard's hat - _the Sorting Hat._

Both of us hesitated. We cast weary glances around the room at the sleeping witches and wizards on the walls, then looked quickly at one another. Surely it couldn't hurt if we took the hat down and tried it on again? Just to see. . .just to make sure it _had _put the two of us in the right House -

We walked quietly around the desk. Harry lifted the hat from its shelf, and lowered it slowly onto his hand, but it was much too large and slipped down over his eyes, just as it had done the last time he'd put it on. I watched him silently.

From what I could see of his face, I could partly guess what was being said. Harry began telling me what he and the hat were talking about until he grabbed the point of the hat and pulled it off. It hung limply in his hand, grubby and faded. Harry pushed it back onto its shelf, looking rather sick. I wasn't really feeling too well either.

"You're wrong," we said aloud to the still and silent hat. It didn't move. Harry and I backed away, watching it. Then a strange, gagging noise behind us made us both wheel around.

We weren't alone after all. Standing on a golden perch behind the door was a decrepit-looking bird that resembled a half-plucked turkey. We stared at it and the bird looked balefully back, making its gagging noise again. Harry and I both thought it looked very ill. Its eyes were dull and, even as we watched, a couple more feathers fell out of its tail.

Harry and I were just thinking that all we needed was for Dumbledore's pet bird to die while we were alone in the office with it, when the bird burst into flames.

Harry yelled in shock and I yelped as we backed away into the desk. We looked feverishly around in case there was a glass of water somewhere but couldn't see one; the bird, meanwhile, had become a fireball; it gave one loud shriek and next second there was nothing but a smouldering pile of ash on the floor.

The office door opened. Dumbledore came in, looking very somber.

"Professor," Harry gasped. "Your bird - We couldn't do anything - he just caught fire -"

To both my and Harry's astonishment, Dumbledore smiled.

"About time, too," he said. "He's been looking dreadful for days; I've been telling him to get a move on."

He chuckled at the stunned looks on both our faces.

"Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry and Cheyenne. Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Watch him. . ."

Harry and I looked down in time to see a tiny, wrinkled, newborn bird poke its head out of the ashes. It was quite as ugly as the old one.

"It's a shame you both had to see him on a Burning day," Dumbledore said, seating himself behind his desk. "He's really very handsome most of the time, wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make hightly _faithful _pets."

In the shock of Fawkes catching fire, both Harry and I had forgotten what we were here for, but it all came back to us as Dumbledore settled himself in the high chair behind the desk and fixed the two of us with his penetrating, light-blue stare.

Before Dumbledore could speak another word, however, the door of the office flew open with an almighty bang and Hagrid burst in, a wild look in his eyes, his balaclava perched on top of his shaggy head and the dead rooster still swinging from his hand.

"It wasn' Harry or Cheyenne, Professor Dumbledore!" Hagrid said urgently. "I was talkin' ter them _seconds _before that kid was found, they never had time, sir -"

Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid went ranting on, waving the rooster around in his agitation, sending feathers everywhere.

" - it can't've bin them, I'll swear it in front o' the Ministry o' Magic if I have to -"

"Hagrid, I -"

" -yeh've got the wrong kids, sir, I _know_ neither Harry nor I would ever -"

_"Hagrid!"_ Dumbledore said loudly. "I do _not _think that either Harry or Cheyenne attacked those people."

"Oh," Hagrid said, the rooster falling limply at his side. "Right, I'll wait outside then, Headmaster."

And he stomped out looking embarrassed.

"You don't think it was us, Professor?" Harry and I repeated hopefully as Dumbledore brushed rooster feathers off his desk.

"No, Harry, Cheyenne, I don't," Dumbledore said, though his face was somber again. "But I still want to talk with you both."

Harry and I waited nervously while Dumbledore considered us, the tips of his long fingers together. We took each other's hand, lacing our fingers together.

"I must ask you both, whether there is anything one of you'd like to tell me," he said gently. "Anything at all."

Neither of us knew what to say. We thought of Malfoy shouting, "You'll be next, Mudbloods!" and of the Polyjuice Potion simmering away in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Then we thought of the disembodied voice we had heard twice and remembered what Ron had said: _"Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sigh, even in the wizarding world." _Glancing quickly at one another, we thought, too, about what everyone was saying about us, and our growing dread that we were somehow connected with Salazar Slytherin. . . .

"No," Harry said at last, for the both of us. "There isn't anything, Professor. . . ."

The double attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick turned what had previously been nervousness into real panic. Curiously, it was Nearly Headless Nick's fate that seemed to worry people most. What could possibly do that to a ghost? people asked each other; what terrible power would harm someone who was already dead? There was almost a stampede to book seats on the Hogwarts Express so that students could go home for Christmas.

"At this rate, we'll be the only ones left," Ron told Harry, Hermione and I. "Us, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. What a jolly holiday it's going to be."

Crabbe and Goyle, who always did whatever Malfoy did, had signed up to stay over the holidays, too. But both Harry and I were glad that most people were leaving. We were tired of people skirting around us in the corridors, as though we were about to sprout fangs or spit poison; tired of all the muttering, pointing, and hissing as we passed.

Fred and George, however, found all this very funny. They went out of their way to march ahead of both Harry and I down the corridors, shouting, "Make way for the Heirs of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard and witch coming through. . . ."

Percy was deeply disapproving of this behavior.

"It is _not _a laughing matter," he said coldly.

"Oh, get out of the way, Percy," Fred said. "Harry and Chey're in a hurry."

"Yeah, they're off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with their fanged servant," George said, chortling.

Ginny didn't find it amusing either.

"Oh, _don't_," she wailed every time Fred asked either Harry or I loudly who we were planning to attack next, or when George pretended to ward one of us off with a large clove of garlic when we met.

Neither Harry nor I minded; it made us feel better that Fred and George, at least, thought the idea of us being Slytherin's heir was quite ridiculious. But their antics seemed to be aggravating Draco Malfoy, who looked increasingly sour each time he saw them at it.

"It's because he's _bursting _to say it's really him," Ron said knowingly. "You know how he hates anyone beating him at anything, and you're both getting all the credit for his dirty work.

"Not for long," Hermione said in a satisfied tone. "The Polyjuice Potion's nearly ready. We'll be getting the truth out of him any day now."

At last the term ended, and a silence deep as the snow on the grounds descended on the castle. Both Harry and I found it peaceful, rather than gloomy, and enjoyed the fact that we, Hermione, and the Weasleys had the run of Gryffindor Tower, which meant we could play Exploding Snap loudly without bothering anyone, and practice dueling in private. Fred, George, and Ginny had chosen to stay at school rather than visit Bill in Egypt with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Percy, who disapproved of what he termed our childish behavior, didn't spend much time in the Gryffindor common room. He had already told us pompously that _he _was only staying over Christmas because it was his duty as a prefect to support the teachers during this troubled time.

Christmas morning dawned, cold and white. Hermione and I had our whole dorm to ourselves and I was enjoying being able to sleep in when Hermione burst into the room, making me jump and fall out of bed with a loud THUMP!

"Morning Chey!" She said loudly, pulling back the curtains at the windows. I blinked in the strong light, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I reached up and pulled my glasses off my bedside table, pushing them up the bridge of my nose and looking around the dorm. The normal pile of presents stood at the end of my bed. Hermione bustled about the room, fully dressed and flushed with excitement. She looked like she'd been running.

"What time is it?" I asked drowsily, sitting up and sitting back on my bed, rubbing at a sore spot on the back of my head. "Oh, and Merry Christmas." I said with a smile.

"Merry Christmas, Chey," Hermione said back with a smile, "And it's about nine. I've been up for nearly an hour, adding more lacewings to the potion. It's ready."

I sat bolt upright, feelng awake.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," Hermione said, sitting on her bed with a soft sigh. "I think if we plan to do this, we should do it tonight."

I nodded and started on my presents. Hermione said we should talk to the boys once I was done and I nodded again in agreement.

All my presents were far beyond satisfactory. Hagrid had send me a large tin of fudge, which I decided to roast over the fire later before eating; Ron had given me a book called _Strange and Unusual Wizarding Abilities, _a book full of rare and unusual powers wizards could have, espiecally those tied into the Dark Arts, and Hermione had gotten me a beautiful new eagle-feather quill. My last present was from Mrs. Weasley, which was a new, hand-knitted sweater and a large chocolate cake. I read the card, smiling at it as I slipped my new sweater on. Once I'd put my new stuff away and gotten dressed, Hermione and I grabbed our presents to Ron and Harry and left our dorm for their's, sneaking silently up the staircase so Percy wouldn't come out and start yelling.

Hermione thrust the door open, startling the boys awake. It was still quite early in the morning and knew they probably didn't like being awakened this early.

"Wake up," Hermione said loudly, pulling back the curtains at the window.

"Hermione, Chey - neither of you is supposed to be in here -" Ron said, shielding his eyes against the light.

"Merry Christmas to you, too," Hermione said, throwing him his present as I set the one I had on his bed, gently. She told the boys what she told me about the Polyjuice Potion.

Harry sat up, suddenly wide awake as I sat at the foot of his four-poster.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," Hermione said again, shifting Scabbers the rat so that she could sit down on the end of Ron's four-poster. "If we're going to do it I say it should be tonight."

At that moment, Hedwig swooped into the room, followed by Elon, both carrying very small packages in their beaks.

"Hello," Harry said happily as Hedwig landed on his bed and Elon on my shoulder, "Are you speaking to me again?"

She nibbled his ear affectionately as Elon rubbed the top of his head against my cheek, both of which were far better presents than the ones that they had brought us, which turned out to be from the Dursleys. They had sent Harry and I each a toothpick and note telling us to find out whether we'd be able to stay at Hogwarts for the summer vacation, too.

Like me, Harry had far more satisfactory gifts. Hagrid sent him a large tin of treacle fudge, which I knew he would probably roast over the fire before eating it like I was planning for mine; Ron had also given him a book, but this one was called _Flying with the Cannons, _a book of interesting facts about his favorite Quidditch team, and Hermione had also gotten him a luxury eagle-feather quill. I'd found him a nice book called _Famous Quidditch Records of the Age, _a book with all kinds of records broken in Quidditch history. His final present was from Mrs. Weasley, a new, handknitted sweater like mine, along with a large plum cake. As he read her card, I could see guilt work it's way across his features. I was tell he was remembering what had happened to Mr. Weasley's car, which hadn't been seen since the accident, and I could tell he was thinking of the bout of rule-breaking he and Ron were planning next. I just hoped he would feel all right tonight.

No one, not even anyone dreading taking Polyjuice Potion later, could fail to enjoy Christmas dinner at Hogwarts.

The Great Hall looked magnificent. Not only were there a dozen frost-covered Christmas Trees and thick streamers of holly and mistletoe crisscrossing the ceiling, but enchanted snow was falling, warm and dry, from the ceiling. Dumbledore led us in a few of his favorite carols, Hagrid booming more and more loudly with every goblet of eggnog he consumed. Percy, who hadn't noticed that Fred had bewitched his prefect badge so that it now read 'Pinhead,' kept asking us all what we were sniggering at. Neither Harry nor I even cared that Draco Malfoy was making loud, snide remarks about his new sweater from the Slytherin table. With a bit of luck, Malfoy would be getting his comeuppance in a few hours' time.

Fred had just pulled me under some mistletoe and was leaning down to kiss me when Hermione came over and gently took my arm, "Sorry Fred, but I need Chey for a second." She said with an apologetic smile and pulled me away, Fred staring after us sadly. Hermione hurried us over to Harry and Ron and ushered them quickly out of the hall so we could finalize our plans for the evening.

"We still need a bit of the people you're changing into," Hermione said matter-of-factly, as though she were sending them to the supermarket for laundry detergent. "And obviously, it'll be best if you can get something of Crabbe's and Goyle's; they're Malfoy's best friends, he'll tell them anything. And we also need to make sure the real Crabbe and Goyle can't burst in on us while we're interrogating him.

"Chey and I've got it all worked out," she went on smoothly, ignoring Harry and Ron's stupefied faces. She held up two plump chocolate cakes. "We've filled these with a simple Sleeping Draught. All you have to do is make sure Crabbe and Goyle find them. You know how greedy they are, they're bound to eat them. Once they're asleep, pull out a few of their hairs and hide them in a broom closet."

Harry and Ron looked at each other silently.

"Hermione, Chey, I don't think -"

"That could go seriously wrong -"

But Hermione had a steely glint in her eye not unlike the one Professor McGonagall sometimes had. Even I was determined to go through with this.

"The potion will be useless without Crabbe and Goyle's hair," she said sternly. "You do _want _to investigate Malfoy, don't you?"

"Oh, all right, all right," Harry said. "But what about you two? Whose hair are you both ripping out?"

"We've already got ours!" Hermione said brightly, both of us pulling out tiny bottles from our pockets and showing the boys the single hairs within each. "Remember Millicent Bulstrode wrestling with me at the Dueling Club? She left this on my robes when she was trying to strangle me!"

"And I got mine from Pansy Parkinson. She used a sneak attack on me and got me on the floor. I was able to rip out a couple of her hairs before I got her off." I said, smiling as I remembered. "And they've both gone home for Christmas - so we'll just have to tell the Slytherins we've decided to come back."

Once we'd given the boys the chocolate cakes, Hermione and I bustled off to check on the Polyjuice Potion again. We moved upstairs to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom as quickly and quietly as we could, slipping in without too much trouble.

It was hard to see with the thick black smoke issuing from the stall where the Polyjuice Potion was kept hidden, but Hermione and I hurried to it and started stirring the potion to make sure it was still good. Close up, the potion looked like thick, dark mud, bubbling sluggishly.

It only took about twenty minutes before we were joined by Harry and Ron, who knocked softly on the door.

"Hermione? Chey?"

The lock scraped as it slid open and Hermione and I emerged, but of us shiny-faced and looking anxious. Behind us, we could hear the _gloop gloop _of the bubbling, glutinous potion. We'd placed four glass tumblers on the toilet seat.

"Did you get them?" Hermione asked breathlessly.

Harry showed us Goyle's hair.

"Good. And we sneaked these spare robes out of the laundry," Hermione said as I held up a small sack. "We three'll need bigger sizes once we've changed. Chey just needs a bit of a smaller size."

We all stared into the cauldron.

"We're sure we've done everything right," Hermione said, nervously rereading the splotched pages of _Moste Potente Potions._ "It looks like the book says it should. . .once we've drunk it, we'll have exactly an hour before we change back into ourselves."

"Now what?" Ron whispered.

"We separate it into four glasses and add the hairs."

Hermione ladled large dollops of the potion into each of the glasses. Then, her hand trembling, she shook Millicent Bulstrode's hair out of its bottle into the first glass. I shook Pansy Parkinson's hair into the second.

Both potions hissed loudly like boiling kettles and frothed madly. A second later, Millicent's turned a sick sort of yellow while Pansy's turned a nasty shade of frog spawn green.

"Urgh - essence of Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson," Ron said, eyeing both with loathing. "Bet they taste disgusting."

"Add yours, then," Hermione said.

Harry dropped Goyle's hair into the glass next to mine and Ron put Crabbe's into the final one. Both glasses hissed and frothed; Goyle's turned the khaki color of a booger, Crabbe's a dark, murky brown.

"Hang on," Harry said as Ron, Hermione and I reached for our glasses. "We'd better not all drink them in here. . . .Once we turn into Crabbe and Goyle we won't fit. And Millicent Bulstrode's no pixie. Pansy Parkinson is smaller, but we probably will sqush you." Harry added to me.

"Good thinking," Ron said, unlocking the door. "We'll take separate stalls."

Careful not to spill a drop of our Polyjuice Potion, Harry and I slipped into the middle stalls.

"Ready?" we called.

"Ready," came Ron and Hermione's voices.

"One - two - three -"

Pinching my nose, I drank the potion down in two large gulps. It tasted like overcooked cabbage.

Immediately, my insides started writhing as though I'd just swallowed live snakes - my empty glass dropped from my hand, smashing on the floor as I doubled up, and I wondered whether I was going to be sick - then a burning sensation spread rapidly from my stomach to the very ends of my fingers and toes - next, with me trying hard not to fall to the floor on hands and knees, my hands grasping the stall wall with a white-knuckled grip, came a horrible melting feeling, as the skin all over my body bubbled like hot wax - and before my eyes, my hands shrank, the fingers becoming stubber, the nails lengthing, the knuckles becoming smaller - my shoulders shrank and my hair became shorter, the bangs lengthing past my eyes - my robes sagged, hanging off me like a large nightshirt - my feet moved around easily in shoes two sizes too big -

As suddenly as it had started, everything stopped. I continued to grip the stall wall with white-knuckled hands, listening to Myrtle gurgling morosely in the end toilet. It was easy to kick off my shoes and slid out of my robes. Being Pansy, I felt like I was a dwarf in a normal person's clothing. With small, quivering hands, I slid on the spare robes, lacing up the small, doll like shoes. I moved a hand through the long bangs, brushing them from my vision, which I soon realized was clouded on their own by my glasses, since Pansy obviously didn't need them - I took them off and put them in a pocket of my new robes as I heard Goyle's low rasp of a voice issue from the stall to my right, "Are you three okay?" And slow realization told me it was Harry, not Goyle.

"Yeah," came the deep grunt of Crabbe from my left.

I unlocked my door and stood in the dim bathroom light, pale blue moonlight lighting up my black robes. To my left, I could see the large build of Goyle standing before one of the cracked mirror, staring into his reflection with dull, deepset eyes. He reached up and scratched his ear, the reflection mirroring him. I approached quietly, "Harry?" I whispered, my voice coming out in a jeering taunt and I put a hand to my lips. He turned to look at me and his eyes widened.

Ron's door opened. We all stared at each other. Except that he looked pale and shocked, Ron was indistinguishable from Crabbe, from the pudding-bowl haircut to the long, gorilla arms.

"This is unbelievable," Ron said, approaching the mirror and prodding Crabbe's flat nose. _"Unbelievable."_

"We'd better get going," Harry said, loosening the watch that looked like it was trying to cut his wrist off. "We've still got to find out where the Slytherin common room is. I only hope we can find someone to follow. . ."

Ron, who had been gazing at Harry, said, "You don't know how bizarre it is to see Goyle _thinking_," He banged on Hermione's door. "C'mon, we need to go -"

A high-pitched voice answered him.

"I - I don't think I'm going to come after all. You go on without me."

"Hermione, we know Millicent Bulstrode's ugly, no one's going to know it's you -"

"No - really - I don't think I'll come. You three hurry up, you're wasting time -"

Harry looked at Ron and I, bewildered.

"_That_ looks more like Goyle," Ron and I said. "That's how he looks every time a teacher asks him a question."

"Hermione, are you okay?" Harry called through the door.

"Fine - I'm fine - go on -"

I grabbed Harry's arm and checked his watch, then showed him it. Five of our precious sixty minutes had already passed.

"We'll meet you back here, all right?" he said.

I slipped easily out of the bathroom, Harry and Ron opening the door carefully behind me to check that the coast was clear, and we set off.

"Don't swing your arms like that," Harry muttered to Ron.

"Eh?"

"Crabbe holds them sort of stiff. . . ."

"How's this?"

"Yeah, that's better. . . ."

We went down the marble staircase. All we needed now was a Slytherin that we could follow to the Slytherin common room, but there was nobody around.

"Any ideas?" Harry muttered.

"The Slytherins always come up to breakfast from over there," Ron said, nodding at the entrance to the dungeons. The words had barely left his mouth when a girl with long, curly hair emerged from the entrance.

"Excuse me," Ron said, hurrying up to her. "We've forgotten the way to our common room."

"I beg your pardon?" the girl said stiffly. "_Our _common room? _I'm _a Ravenclaw."

She walked away, looking suspiciously back at us.

Harry, Ron and I hurried down the stone steps into the darkness, the boy's footsteps echoing particularly loudly as Crabbe and Goyle's huge feet hit the floor, none of us feeling that this was going to be as easy as we had hoped.

The labyrinthine passages were deserted. We walked deeper and deeper under the school, constantly checking our watches to see how much time we had left. After a quarter of an hour, just when we were getting desperate, we heard a sudden movement ahead.

"Ha!" Ron said excitedly. "There's one of them now!"

The figure was emerging from a side room. As we hurried nearer, however, our hearts sank. It wasn't a Slytherin, it was Percy.

"What're you doing down here?" Ron asked in surprise.

Percy looked affronted.

"That," he said stiffly, "is none of your business. It's Crabbe, isn't it?"

"Wh - oh, yeah," Ron answered.

"Well, get off to your dormitories," Percy said sternly. "It's not safe to go wandering around dark corridors these days." He stared eyeing me suspiciously.

"_You _are," Ron pointed out.

"I," Percy said, drawing himself up, his attention adverted from me, "am a prefect. Nothing's about to attack _me_."

A voice suddenly echoed behind Harry, Ron and I. Draco Malfoy was strolling toward us, and for the first time in our lives, Harry and I were pleased to see him.

"There you two are," he drawled, looking at Harry and Ron. "Have you both been pigging out in the Great Hall all this time? I've been looking for you; I want to show you something really funny." he finally noticed me. "Pansy, you decided to come back! Good, I meant to show you what I'm going to show Crabbe and Goyle as well."

Malfoy glanced witheringly at Percy.

"And what're you doing down here, Weasley?" he sneered.

Percy looked outraged.

"You want to show a bit more respect to a school prefect!" he said. "I don't like your attitude!"

Malfoy sneered and motioned for Harry and Ron to follow him as he took my hand. I could see that Harry almost said something apologetic to Percy, but caught himself just in time. He and Ron hurried after Malfoy and I. Malfoy was speaking as we turned into the next passage, "That Peter Weasley -"

"Percy," Ron corrected him automatically.

"Whatever," Malfoy said, waving it off. "I've noticed him sneaking around a lot lately. And I bet I know what he'd up to. He thinks he's going to catch Slytherin's heir single-handed."

He gave a short, derisive laugh. I could see Harry and Ron exchange excited looks as I gave a laugh of my own.

Malfoy paused by a stretch of bare, damp stone wall.

"What's the new password again?" he asked Harry.

"Er -" Harry said.

"Oh, yeah - _pure-blood_!"Malfoy said, not listening, and a stone door concealed in the wall slid open. Malfoy marched through it with me by his side. Harry and Ron followed us.

The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of us, and several Slytherins were silhouetted around it in high-backed chairs.

"Wait here," Malfoy saaid to Harry, Ron and I, motioning the boys to a pair of empty chairs set back from the fire. He had me sit down on a plush black couch across from them. "I'll go and get it - my father's just sent it to me -"

Wondering what Malfoy was going to show us, Harry and Ron sat down across from me, and we did our best to look at home.

Malfoy came back a minute later, holding what looked like a newspaper clipping. He thrust it under my nose.

"That'll give you a laugh," he said.

Forcing a grin, I looked at the newspaper clipping.

It had been clipped out of the _Daily Prophet,_ and it read:

**INQUIRY AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC**

Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, was today fined fifty Galleons for bewitching a Muggle car.

Mr. Lucius Malfoy, a governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the enchanted car crashed earlier this year, called today for Mr. Weasley's resignation.

"Weasley has brought the Ministry into disrepute," Mr. Malfoy told our reporter. "He is clearly unfit to draw up our laws and his ridiculous Muggle Protection Act should be scrapped immediately."

Mr. Weasley was unavailable for comment, although his wife told reporters to clear off or she'd set the family ghoul on them.

I forced a sneering, jaunted laugh and handed the clipping to Ron. Malfoy smirked and sat down on the couch next to me, his arm stretched out on the back of the couch behind me.

I watched Ron's eyes widen in shock. He read the clipping quickly, gave a very forced laugh, and handed it to Harry.

"Well?" Malfoy asked impatiently as Harry handed the clipping back to him. "Don't you think it's funny?"

"Ha, ha," Harry replied bleakly.

"Arthur Weasley loves Muggles so much he should snap his wand in half and go and join them," Malfoy said scornfully. "You'd never know the Weasleys were pure-bloods, the way they behave.

Ron's - or rather Crabbe's - face was contorted with fury.

"What's up with you, Crabbe?" Malfoy snapped.

"Stomachache," Ron grunted.

"Well, go up to the hospital wing and give all those Mudbloods a kick from me," Malfoy said, snickering. "You know, I'm surprised the _Daily Prophet _hasn't reported all these attacks yet," he went on thoughtfully. "I suppose Dumbledore's trying to hush it all up. He'll be sacked if it doesn't stop soon. Father's always said old Dumbledore's the worst thing that's ever happened to this place. he loves Muggle-borns. A decent headmaster would never've let slime like that Creevey in."

Malfoy started taking pictures with an imaginary camera and did a cruel but accurate impression f Colin: " 'Powter, can I have your picture, Powter? Can I have your autographs? Can I lick both your shoes, please, Powter?" Knowing Pansy was usually quick to get a joke, I gave a shrill laugh.

Malfoy dropped his hands and looked at Harry and Ron.

"What's the _matter _with you two?"

Far too late, Harry and Ron forced themselves to laugh, but Malfoy seemed satisfied; perhaps Crabbe and Goyle were always slow on the uptake.

"Saints Powter, the Mudbloods' friends," Malfoy said slowly. "They're another pair with no proper wizard or witch feeling, or they wouldn't go around with that jumped up Granger Mudblood. And people think _they're _Slytherin's heirs!"

Harry, Ron and I waited with bated breath: Malfoy was surely seconds away from telling us it was him - but then -

"I _wish _I knew who it _is_," Malfoy said petulantly. "I could help them."

Ron's jaw dropped so that Crabbe looked even more clueless than usual. Fortunately, Malfoy didn't notice, and Harry and I, thinking fast, said, "You must have some idea who's behind it all. . . ."

"You know I haven't, Goyle, how many times do I have to tell you?" Malfoy snapped. "And Father won't tell me _anything_ about the last time the Chamber was opened either. Of course, it was fifty years ago, so it was before his time, but he knows all about it, and he says that it was all kept quiet and it'll look suspicious if I know too much about it. But I know one thing - last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood _died._ So I bet it's a matter of time before one of them's killed this time. . . .I hope it's Granger," he said with relish.

I felt bile rise in the back of my throat as anger bubbled in my stomach. Ron was clenching Crabbe's gigantic fists. Feeling that it would be a bit of a giveaway if Ron punched Malfoy, Harry and I both shot him warning looks and said together, "D'you know if the person who opened the Chamber last time was caught?"

"Oh, yeah. . .whoever it was was expelled," Malfoy said. "They're probably still in Azkaban."

"Azkaban?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Azkaban - _the wizard prison, _Goyke," Malfoy said, looking at him in disbelief. "Honestly, if you were any slower, you'd be going backward."

He shifted restlessly in his seat, his arm going around my shoulders as he pulled me closer. Disgust worked it's way up my spine, but I didn't pull away. I could see Harry trying to hold back his anger. "Father says to keep my head down and let the Heir of Slytheirn get on with it. He says the school needs ridding of all the Mudblood filth, but not to get mixed up in it. Of course, he's got a lot on his plate at the moment. You know the Ministry of Magic raided our manor last week?"

Harry and I tried to force Goyle's dull face and Pansy's hard one into looks of concern.

"Yeah. . ." Malfoy said. "Luckily, they didn't find much. Father's got some _very _valuable Dark Arts stuff. But luckily, we've got our own secret chamber under the drawning-room floor -"

"Ho!" Ron said.

Malfoy looked at him. So did Harry and I. Ron blushed. Even his hair was turning red. His nose was also slowly lengthening - our hour was up, Ron was turning back into himself, and from the look of horror he was suddenly giving both Harry and I, we must be, too.

The boys jumped to their feet and I wiggled out of Malfoy's grasp.

"Medicine got my stomach/Going to go kick those Mudbloods in the hospital wing," Ron grunted as I invented quickly, and without further ado we sprinted the length of the Slytherin common room, hurled ourselves at the stone wall, and dashed up the passage, hoping against hope that Malfoy hadn't noticed anything. Pain shot from my feet as they lengthened, the shoes becoming smaller. I kicked them off quickly, feeling my robes tightening, making it more difficult to move, but I didn't dare stop as we crashed up the steps into the dark entrance hall, which was full of a muffled pounding coming from the closet where Harry and Ron had locked Crabbe and Goyle. Leaving their shoes outside the closet door, the boys sprinted in their socks up the marble staircase after me as we headed toward Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"Well, it wasn't a complete waste of time," Rone panted, closing the bathroom door behind us. "I know we still haven't found out who's doing the attacks, but i'm going to write to Dad tomorrow and tell him to check under the Malfoys' drawing room."

Harry and I checked our faces in the cracked mirror. We were both back to normal. We put our glasses on as Ron hammered on the door of Hermione's stall.

"Hermione, come out, we've got loads to tell you -"

"Go away!" Hermione squeaked.

Harry, Ron and I looked at each other.

"What's the matter?" Ron said. "You must be back to normal by now, we are -"

But Moaning Myrtle glided suddenly through the stall door. Neither Harry nor I had ever seen her looking so happy.

"Ooooooh, wait till you see," she said. "It's _awful_ -"

We heard the lock slide back and Hermione emerged, sobbing, her robes pulled up over her head.

"What's up?" Ron asked uncertainly. "Have you still got Millicent's nose or something?"

Hermione let her robes fall and Ron back into the sink. I backed into Harry.

Her face was covered in black fur. Her eyes had turned yellow and there were long, pointed ears poking through her hair.

"It was a c-cat hair!" she howled. "M-Millicent Bulstrode m-must have a cat! And the p-potion isn't supposed to be used for animal transformations!"

"Uh-oh," Ron said.

"You'll be teased something _dreadful_," Myrtle said happily.

"It's okay, Hermione," Harry said quickly. "We'll take you up to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey never asks too many questions. . . ."

"Harry's right, Hermione. You'll be fixed up in no time. . ." I added, hoping to cheer her up.

It took a long time to persuade Hermione to leave the bathroom. Moaning Myrtle sped us on our way with a hearty guffaw. "Wait till everyone finds out you've got a _tail!_"


	13. The Very Secret Diary

**Chapter Thirteen**

**The Very Secret Diary**

Hermione remained in the hospital wing for several weeks. There was a flurry of rumor about her disappearance when the rest of the school arrived back from their Christmas holidays, because of course everyone thought that she had been attacked. So many students filed past the hospital wing trying to catch a glimpse of her that Madam Pomfrey took out her curtains again and placed them around Hermione's bed, to spare her the shame of being seen with a furry face.

Harry, Ron and I went to visit her every evening. When the new term started, we brought her each day's homework.

"If I'd sprouted whiskers, I'd take a break from work," Ron said, tipping a stack of books onto Hermione's bedside table one evening.

"Don't be silly, Ron, I've got to keep up," Hermione said briskly. Her spirits were greatly improved by the fact that all the hair has gone from her face and her eyes were turning slowly back to brown. "I don't suppose you've got any new leads?" she added in a whisper, so that Madam Pomfrey couldn't hear her.

"Nothing," Harry and I replied gloomily.

"I was so _sure_ it was Malfoy," Ron said, for about the hundredth time.

"What's that?" Harry asked, pointing to something gold sticking out from under Hermione's pillow.

"Just a get well card," Hermione said hastily, trying to poke it out of sight, but Ron was too quick for her. He pulled it out, flicked it open, and read aloud:

_To Miss Granger, wishing you a speedy recovery, from your concerened teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's _Most-Charming-Smile Award._"

Ron looked up at Hermione, disgusted.

"You sleep with this under your _pillow_?"

But Hermione was spared answering by Madam Pomfrey sweeping over with her evening dose of medicine.

"Is Lockhart the smarmiest bloke you've ever met, or what?" Ron said to Harry and I as we left the infirmary and started up the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower. Snape had given us so much homework, Harry thought he was likely to be in the sixth year before he finished it. I was just saying I could help the boys with their homework when an angry outburst from the floor above reached our ears.

"That's Filch," Harry muttered as we hurried up the stairs and paused, out of sight, listening hard.

"You don't think someone else's been attacked?" Ron asked tensely.

We stood still, our heads inclined toward Filch's voice, which sounded quite hysterical.

" - _even more work for me! Mopping all night, like I haven't got enough to do! No, this is the final straw, I'm going to Dumbledore -"_

His footsteps receded along the out-of-sight corridor and we heard a distant door slam.

We poked our heads around the corner. Filch had clearly been manning his usual lookout post: We were once again on the spot where Mrs. Norris had been attacked. We saw at a glance what Filch had been shouting about. A great floor of water stretched over half the corridor, and it looked as though it was still seeping from under the door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Now that Filch had stopped shouting, we could heard Myrtle's wails echoing off the bathroom walls.

"_Now_ what's up with her?" Ron said.

"Let's go and see," Harry and I said, and holding our robes over our ankles we stepped through the great wash of water to the door bearing its **OUT OF ORDER** sign, ignored it as always, and entered.

Moaning Myrtle was crying, if possible, louder and harder than ever before. She seemed to be hiding down her usual toilet. It was dark in the bathroom because the candles had been extinguished in the great rush of water that had left both wall and floor soaking wet.

"What's up, Myrtle?" Harry called.

"Who's that?" Myrtle glugged miserably. "Come to throw something else at me?"

Harry and I waded across to her stall and said, "Why would we throw something at you?"

"Don't ask me," Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more water, which splashed onto the already sopping floor. "Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me. . . ."

"But it can't hurt you if someone throws something at you," Harry said, reasonably. My face paled as I knew the direction in which Harry was thinking. "I mean, it'd just go right through you, wouldn't it?"

"You shouldn't have said that," I whispered. I was right. Myrtle puffed herself up and shrieked, "Let's all throw books at Myrtle, because _she_ can't feel it! Ten points if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if it goes through her head! Well, ha, ha, ha! What a lovely game, I _don't _think!" She was being really hypocritical. She'd made fun of Hermione for her misfortune and now she was overreacting to a simple thing as a book falling through her head.

"Who threw it at you, anyway?" Harry asked.

"_I_ don't know. . . .I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head," Myrtle said, glaring at us. "It's over there, it got washed out. . . ."

Harry, Ron and I looked under the sink where Myrtle was pointing. A small, thin book lay there. It had a shabby black cover and was as wet as everything else in the bathroom. Harry stepped forward to pick it up, but Ron suddenly flung out an arm to hold him back.

"What?" Harry said.

"Are you crazy?" Ron said. "It could be dangerous."

_"Dangerous_?" Harry said, laughing. "Come off it, how could it be dangerous?"

"Ron's right Harry, it could be dangerous. I've read about some of those books that wizards have written. There's one that can burn your eyes out. And everyone who read _Sonnets of a Sorcerer _spoke in limericks for the rest of their lives. And some old witch in Bath had a book that you could _never stop reading!_ You just had to wander around with your nose in it, trying to do everything one-handed. And -"

"All right, I've got the point," Harry interrupted.

The little book lay on the floor, nondescript and soggy.

"Well, we won't find out unless we look at it," he said, and he ducked around Ron and picked it up off the floor.

Harry and I saw at once that it was a diary, and the faded year on the cover told us it was fifty years old. We opened it eagerly. On the first page we could just make out the name 'T. M. Riddle' in smudged ink.

"Hang on," Ron said, who had approached cautiously and was looking over our shoulders. "I know that name. . . .T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago."

"How on earth d'you know that?" Harry and I asked in amazement.

"Because Filch made me polish his shield about fifty times in detention," Ron said resentfully. "That was the one I burped slugs all over. If you'd wiped slime off a name for an hour, you'd remember it, too."

Harry peeled the wet pages apart. They were completely blank. There wasn't the faintest trace of writing on any of them, not even _Auntie Mabel's birthday_, or _dentist, half-past three._

"He never wrote in it," Harry and I said, both of us disappointed.

"I wonder why someone wanted to flush it away?" Ron asked curiously.

Harry turned to the back cover of the book and we saw the printed name of a variety store on Vauxhall Road, London.

"He must've been Muggle-born," Harry and I said thoughtfully. "To have bought a diary from Vauxhall Road. . . ."

"Well, it's not much use to you," Ron said. He dropped his voice. "Fifty points if you can get it through Myrtle's nose."

Harry, however, pocketed the diary.

Hermione left the hospital wing, de-whiskered, tail-less, and fur-free, at the beginning of February, just a couple of days before my birthday. On her first evening back in Gryffindor Tower, Harry showed her T. M. Riddle's diary and told her the story of how we had found it.

"Oooh, it might have hidden powers," Hermione said enthusiastically, taking the diary and looking at it closely.

"If it has, it's hiding them very well," Ron said. "Maybe it's shy. I don't know why you don't chuck it, Harry."

"I wish I knew why someone _did _try to chuck it," Harry said. "I wouldn't mind knowing how Riddle got an award for special services to Hogwarts either."

"Could've been anything," Ron said. "Maybe he got thirty O.W.L.s or saved a teacher from the giant squid. Maybe he murdered Myrtle; that would've done everyone a favor. . . ."

But Harry and I could tell from the arrested look on Hermione's face that she was thinking what we were thinking.

"What" Ron said, looking from one to the other in turn.

"Well, the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago, wasn't it?" Harry said. "That's why Malfoy said.

"Yeah. . ." Ron said slowly.

"And this _diary_ is fifty years old," Hermione said, tapping it excitedly.

"So?"

"Oh, Ron, wake up," I snapped. "We know the person who opened the Chamber last time was expelled _fifty years ago._ We know T. M. Riddle got his special award for _catching the Heir of Slytherin?_ His diary would probably tell us everything - where the Chamber is, and how to open it, and what sort of creature lives in it - the person who'd behind the attacks this time wouldn't want that lying around, would they?"

"That's a _brilliant_ theory, Cheyenne," Ron said, "with just one tiny little flaw. _There's nothing written in his diary."_

But Hermione was pulling her wand out of her bag.

"It might be invisible ink!" she whispered.

She tapped the diary three times and said, _"Aparecium!"_

Nothing happened. Undaunted, Hermione shoved her hand back into her bag and pulled out what appeared to be a bright red eraser.

"It's a Revealer, I got it in Diagon Alley," she said.

She rubbed hard on _January first. _Nothing happened.

"I'm telling you, there's nothing to find in there," Ron said. "Riddle just got a diary for Christmas and couldn't be bothered filling it in."

Neither Harry nor I could explain, not to each other or ourselves, why we didn't just throw Riddle's diary away. The fact was that even though we _knew _the diary was blank, one of us would usually absentmindedly pick it up and thumb through the pages, as though it were a story we wanted to finish. And while we were sure we had never heard the name T.M. Riddle before, it still seemed to mean something to us, almost as though Riddle was a friend we'd had when we were both very small, and had half-forgotten. But that was absurd. We'd never had any other friends apart from each other before we'd come to Hogwarts, Dudley had made sure of that. People had even called us the lovebirds because they thought it strange we lived in the same house but that we weren't blood related in the slightest.

Nevertheless, both Harry and I were determined to find out more about Riddle, so next day at break, we headed for the trophy room to examine Riddle's special award, accompanied by an interested Hermione and a throughly unconvinced Ron, who told us he'd seen enough of the trophy room to last him a lifetime.

Riddle's burnished gold shield was tucked away in a corner cabinet. It didn't carry details of why it had been give to him ("Good thing, too, or it'd be even bigger and I'd still be polishing it," Ron said). However, we did find Riddle's name on an old Medal for Magical Merit, and on a list of old Head Boys.

"He sounds like Percy," Ron said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Prefect, Head Boy. . . probably top of every class -"

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Hermione and I said in slightly hurt tones.

The sun had now begun to shine weakly on Hogwarts again. Inside the castle, the mood had grown more hopeful. There had been no more attacks since those on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, and Madam Pomfrey was pleased to report that the Mandrakes were becoming moody and secretive, meaning that they were fast leaving childhood.

"The moment their acne clears up, they'll be ready for repotting again," Harry and I heard her telling Filch kindly one afternoon. "And after that, it won't be long until we're cutting them up and stewing them. You'll have Mrs. Norris back in no time."

Perhaps the Heir of Slytherin had lost his or her nerve, Harry and I thought. It must be getting riskier and riskier to open the Chamber of Secrets, with the school so alert and suspicious. Perhaps the monster, whatever it was, was even now settling itself down to hibernate for another fifty years. . . .

Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff didn't take this cheerful view. He was still convinced that both Harry and I were the guilty ones, that we had 'given ourselves away' at the Dueling Club. Peeves wasn't helping matters; he kept popping up in the crowded corridors singing "Oh Powter, you rotters. . ." now with a dance routine to match.

Gilderoy Lockhart seemed to think he himself had made the attacks stop. Harry and I overheard him telling Professor McGonagall so while the Gryffindors were lining up for Transfiguration.

"I don't think there'll be any more trouble, Minerva," he said, tapping his nose knowingly and winking. "I think the Chamber has been locked for good this time. The culprit must have known it was only a matter of time before I caught him. Rather sensible to stop now, before I came down hard on him.

"You know, what the school needs now is a morale-booster. Wash away the memories of last term! I won't say any more just now, but I think I know just the thing. . . ."

He tapped his nose again and strode off.

Lockhart's idea of a morale-booster became clear at breakfast time on February fourteenth. Neither Harry nor I had had much sleep because of a late-running Quidditch practice the night before, and we hurried down to the Great Hall, slightly late. We thought, for a moment, that we'd walked through the wrong doors.

The walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse still, heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling. Harry and I made our way over to the Gryffindor table, where Ron was sitting looking sickened, and Hermione seemed to have been overcome with giggles.

"What's going on?" Harry and I asked them, sitting down side by side and wiping confetti off the bacon before we took some for ourselves.

Ron pointed to the teachers' table, apparently too disgusted to speak. Lockhart, wearing lurid pink robes to match the decorations, was waving for silence. the teachers on either side of him were looking stony-faced. From where we sat, both Harry and I could see a muscle going in Professor McGonagall's cheek. Snape looked as though someone had just fed him a large beaker of Skele-Gro.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Lockhart shouted. "And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all - and it doesn't end here!"

Lockhart clapped his hands and through the doors to the entrance hall marched a dozen surly-looking dwarfs. Not just any dwarfs, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps.

"My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" Lockhart beamed. "They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!'

Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands. Snape was looking as though the first person to ask him for a Love Potion would be force-fed poison.

"Please, Hermione, tell me you weren't one of the forty-six," Ron said as we left the Great Hall for our first lesson. Hermione suddenly became very interested in searching her bag for her schedule and didn't answer.

All day long, the dwarfs kept barging into our classes to deliver valentines, to the annoyance of the teachers. Even I, embarressingly enough, left class to go to the bathroom so I could catch one of the dwarfs and have him deliver a valentine to Fred for me, but asked him to do it while he was switching classes. Then, late that afternoon as the Gryffindors were walking upstairs for Charms, one of the dwarfs caught up with Harry.

"Oy, you! 'Arry Potter!" shouted a particularly grim-looking dwarf, elbowing people out of the way to get to Harry.

Looking completely embarressed at the thought of being given a valentine in front of a line of first years, which happened to include Ginny Weasley, I saw Harry trying to escape. Gently taking him by the wrist, I tried to use a faster method to get away. The dwarf, however, cut his way through the crowd by kicking people's shins, and reached us before we'd gone two paces.

"I've got musical message to deliver to 'Arry Potter in person," he said, twanging his harp in a threatening sort of way.

"_Not here_," Harry hissed as I tried to pull him away.

"Stay _still_!" the dwarf grunted, grabbing hold of Harry's bag and pulling him back, making me stumble.

"Oi! Let him go, he doesn't want it here!" I snapped, taking a swipe at the dwarf. He leapt back as Harry tried to tug his bag away.

With a loud ripping noise, Harry's bag split in two. His books, wand, parchment, and quill spilled onto the floor and his ink bottle smashed over everything.

Harry and I both dropped to our knees and scrambled around, trying to pick it all up before the dwarf started singing, causing something of a holdup in the corridor.

"What's going on here?" Draco Malfoy's cold, drawling voice reached us then. Harry started stuffing everything feverishly into his ripped bag, desperate to get away before Malfoy could hear his musical valentine.

"What's all his commotion?" another familiar voice said as Percy Weasley arrived.

Looking like a caged animal desperate to get away, Harry tried to make a run for it, but the dwarf seized him around the knees and brought him crashing to the floor. He sat on Harry's ankles to prevent him from getting away.

"Oi, get offa him, you little jerk!" I said, trying to push him off my best friend. He narrowed his eyes angrily on me and swung his harp. Pain shot through my right cheek and I fell backwards, a few tears escaping from my eyes as I nursed my hurt cheek, shooting the dwarf a venomness glare.

"Right," he said, shifting to get more comfortable and twanging his harp again. "Here's your singing valentine:

_His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,_

_His hair is as dark as a black board._

_I wish he was mine, he's really divine,_

_The hero who conquered the Dark Lord._

Feeling embarressed even though the song hadn't been about me, I was too shocked to even do anything except stare, my cheeks a bright red. Slowly getting over my shock, I moved to stand and I brushed dust off my legs before I helped Harry to his feet, steading him since it looked as though his feet were rather numb. Percy Weasley did his best to disperse the crowd, some of whom were crying with mirth.

"Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now," he said, shooing some of the younger students away. "_And_ you, Malfoy -"

Harry and I, both of us glancing over, saw Malfoy stoop and snatch up something. Leering, he showed it to Crabbe and Goyle, and we both realized that he'd got Riddle's diary.

"Give that back," Harry growled quietly.

"Wonder what Potter's written in this? Or better yet, Power," Malfoy said, who obviously hadn't noticed the year on the coverr and thought he had either my or Harry's own diary. A hush fell over the onlookers. Ginny was staring from the diary to Harry and myself, looking terrified. Strange. . .

"Hand it over, Malfoy," Percy said sternly.

"When I've had a look," Malfoy said, waving the diary tauntingly at us.

Percy had begun to say, "As a school prefect -" but Harry had lost his temper. He pulled out his wand and shouted, _"Expelliarmus!"_ and just as Snape had disarmed Lockhart, so Malfoy found the diary shooting out of his hand into the air. Ron, grinning broadly, caught it.

"Harry!" Percy burst out loudly. "No magic in the corridors. I'll have to report this, you know!"

But it didn't look like Harry cared, he was one-up on Malfoy, and I silently agreed that it was worth five points from Gryffindor any day. Malfoy was looking furious, and as Ginny passed him to enter her classroom, he yelled spitefully after her, "I don't think Potter liked your valentine much!"

Ginny covered her face with her hands and ran into class. Snarling, Ron pulled out his wand, too, but Harry and I pulled him away. Ron didn't need to spend the whole of Charms belching slugs.

It wasn't until we had reached Professor Flitwick's class that Harry pointed out something rather odd about Riddle's diary. All his other books were drenched in scarlet ink. The diary, however, was as clean as it had been before the ink bottle had smashed all over it. Harry tried to point this out to Ron as well, but Ron was having trouble with his wand again; large purple bubbles were blossoming out of the end, and he wasn't much interested in anything else.

I watched Harry leave for bed before anyone else in his dormitory that night. I knew this was partly because he couldn't possibly stand Fred and George singing, "His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad" one more time, and partly because he wanted to examine Riddle's diary again. We both knew that Ron thought he was wasting his time.

I said I was going to bed early as well and, using my invisibility cloak, snuck off to join Harry in his dormitory to examine the diary too. Harry was sitting on his four-poster when I joined him, flicking through the blank pages, none of which had a trace of scarlet ink on them. Folding my cloak and putting it at the end of the bed where no one else could see it, I squeezed onto the bed next to Harry to look at the diary as he pulled a new bottle of ink out of his bedside cabinet, dipped his quill into it, and dropped a blot onto the first page of the diary.

The ink shone brightly on the paper for a second and then, as though it was being sucked into the page, vanished. Excited, Harry loaded up his quill a second time and wrote, "My name is Harry Potter and this is my best friend, Cheyenne Power."

The words shone momentarily on the page and they, too, sank without trace. Then, at last, something happened.

Oozing back out of the page, in his very own ink, came words neither of us had ever written.

"_Hello, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you two come by my diary?"_

These words, too, faded away, but not before Harry had started to scribble back.

"Someone tried to flush it down a toilet."

We waited eagerly for Riddle's reply.

_"Lucky that I recorded my memories in some more lasting way than ink. But I always knew that there would be those who would not want this diary read."_

"What do you mean?" Harry scrawled, blotting the page in his excitement.

_"I mean that this diary holds memories of terrible things. Things that were covered up. Things that happened at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."_

"That's where we are now," Harry wrote quickly. "We're at Hogwarts, and horrible stuff's been happening. Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?"

Our hearts were hammering. Riddles' reply came quickly, his writing becoming untidier, as though he was hurrying to tell all he knew.

_"Of course I know about the Chamber of Secrets. In my day, they told us it was a legend, that it did not exist. but this was a lie. In my fifth year, the Chamber was opened and the monster attacked several students, finally killing one. I caught the person who'd opened the Chamber and he was expelled. But the Headmaster, Professor Dippet, ashamed that such a thing had happened at Hogwarts, forbade me to tell the truth. A story was given out that the girl had died in a freak accident. They gave me a nice, shiny, engraved trophy for my trouble and warned me to keep my mouth shut. But I knew it could happen again. The monster lived on, and the one who had the power to release it was not imprisoned."_

Harry nearly upset his ink bottle in his hurry to write back.

"It's happening again now. There have been three attacks and no one seems to know who'd behind them. Who was it last time?"

_"I can show you both, if you like_," was Riddle's reply. _"You don't have to take my word for it. I can take you inside my memory of the night when I caught him."_

Harry hesitated, his quill suspended over the diary. he glanced quickly at me. What did Riddle mean? How could we be taken inside somebody else's memory? We glanced nervously at the door to the dormitory, which was growing dark. When we looked back at the diary, we saw fresh words forming.

_"Let me show you both."_

Harry paused for a fraction of a second, glancing quickly at me, and then wrote two letters.

"OK."

The pages of the diary began to blow as though caught in a high wind, stopping halfway through the month of June. With both our mouths hanging open, both Harry and I saw that the little square for June thirteenth seemed to have turned into a miniscule television screen. My hand found his and I gripped it tightly, feeling it trembling. We raised the book to press an eye each against the little window, and before we knew what was happening, we were tilting forward; the window was widening, we felt our bodies leave his bed, and we were pitched headfirst through the opening in the page, into a whirl of color and shadow.

We felt our feet hit solid ground, and stood, shaking together, as the blurred shapes around us came suddenly into focus.

We knew immediately where we were. This circular room with the sleeping portraits was Dumbledore's office - but it wasn't Dumbledore who was sitting behind the desk. A wizened, frail-looking wizard, bald except for a few wisps of white hair, was reading a letter by candlelight. Neither Harry nor I had ever seen this man before.

"I'm sorry," he said shakily. "We didn't mean to butt in -"

But the wizard didn't look up. He continued to read, frowning slightly. Harry and I drew nearer to his desk and stammered, "Er - we'll just go, shall we?"

Still the wizard ignored us. He didn't seem even to have heard either Harry or I. Thinking that the wizard might be deaf, Harry raised his voice some.

"Sorry we disturbed you. We'll go now," he half-shouted.

The wizard folded up the letter with a sigh, stood up, walked past the two of us without glancing at either of us, and went to draw the curtains at his window.

The sky outside the window was ruby-red; it seemed to be sunset. The wizard went back to the desk, sat down, and twiddled his thumbs, watching the door.

Both Harry and I looked around the office. No Fawkes the phoenix - no whirring silver contraptions. This was Hogwarts as Riddle had known it, meaning that this unknown wizard was Headmaster, not Dumbledore, and we, Harry and Cheyenne, were little more than phantoms, completely invisible to the people of fifty years ago.

There was a knock on the office door.

"Enter," the old wizard said in a feeble voice.

A boy of about sixteen entered, taking off his pointed hat. A silver prefect's badge was glinting on his chest. He was much taller than the two of us, but he, like Harry, had jet-black hair.

"Ah, Riddle," the Headmaster said.

"You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?" Riddle said. He looked nervous.

"Sit down," Dippet said. "I've just been reading the letter you sent me."

"Oh," Riddle said. He sat down, gripping his hands together very tightly.

"My dear boy," Dippet said kindly, "I cannot possibly let you stay at school over the summer. Surely you want to go home for the holidays?"

"No," Riddle said at once. "I'd much rather stay at Hogwarts than go back to that - to that -"

"You live in a Muggle orphanage during the hoildays, I believe?" Dippet said curiously.

"Yes, sir," Riddle said, reddening slightly.

"You are Muggle-born?"

"Half-blood, sir," Riddle said. "Muggle father, witch mother."

"And are both your parents -?"

"My mother died just after I was born, sir. They told me at the orphanage she lived just long enough to name me - Tom after my father, Marvolo after my grandfather."

Dippet clucked his tongue sympathetically.

"The thing is, Tom," He sighed, "special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the current circumstances. . . ."

"You mean all these attacks, sir?" Riddle said, and my and Harry's hearts leapt, and we moved closer, scared of missing anything.

"Precisely," the headmaster said." My dear boy, you must see how foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when term ends. Particularly in light of the recent tragedy. . .the death of that poor little girl. . . .You will be safer by far at your orphanage. As a matter of fact, the Ministry of Magic is even now talking about closing the school. We are no nearer locating the - er - source of all this unpleasantness. . . ."

Riddle's eyes had widened.

"Sir - if the person was caught - if it all stopped -"

"What do you mean?" Dippet asked with a squeak in his voice, sitting up in his chair. "Riddle, do you mean you know something about these attacks?"

"No, sir," Riddle said quickly.

But Harry and I were sure it was the same sort of 'no' that we ourselves had given Dumbledore.

Dippet sank back, looking faintly disappointed.

"You may go, Tom. . . ."

Riddle slid off his chair and slouched out of the room. Harry and I followed him.

Down the moving spiral staircase we went, emerging next to the gargoyle in the darkening corridor. Riddle stopped, and so did Harry and I, watching him. We could tell that Riddle was doing some serious thinking. He was biting his lip, his forehead furrowed.

Then, as though he had suddenly reached a decision, he hurried off, both Harry and I gliding noiselessly behind him. We didn't see another person until we reached the entrance hall, when a tall wizard with long, sweeping auburn hair and a beard called to Riddle from the marble staircase.

"What are you doing, wandering around this late, Tom?"

Harry and I gaped at the wizard. He was none other than a fifty-year-younger Dumbledore.

"I had to see the headmaster, sir," Riddle said.

"Well, hurry off to bed," Dumbledore said, giving Riddle exactly the kind of penetrating stare both Harry and I knew so well. "Best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since. . ."

He sighed heavily, bade Riddle good night, and strode off. Riddle watched him walk out of sight and then, moving quickly, headed straight down the stone steps to the dungeons, with Harry and I in hot pursuit.

But to both our disappointments, Riddle led us not into a hidden passageway or a secret tunnel but to the very dungeon in which we both had Potions with Snape. The torches hadn't been lit, and when Riddle pushed the door almost closed, we could only just see him, standing stock-still by the door, watching the passage outside.

It felt to the two of us that we were there for at least an hour. All we could see was the figure of Riddle at the door, staring through the crack, waiting like a statue. And just when we had stopped feeling expectant and tense and started wishing we could return to the present, we heard something move beyond the door.

Someone was creeping along the passage. We heard whoever it was pass the dungeon where we and Riddle were hidden. Riddle, quiet as a shadow, edged through the door and followed, both Harry and I tiptoeing behind him, forgetting that neither of us could be heard.

For perhaps five minutes we followed the footsteps, until Riddle stopped suddenly, his head inclined in the direction of new noises. Harry and I heard a door creak open, and then someone speaking in a hoarse whisper.

"C'mon. . .gotta get yeh outta here. . . .C'mon now. . .in the box. . ."

There was something familiar about that voice. . . .

Riddle suddenly jumped around the corner. Harry and I stepped out behind him. We could see the dark outline of a huge boy who was crouching in front of an open door, a very large box next to it.

"Evening, Rubeus," Riddle said sharply.

The boy slammed the door shut and stood up.

"What yer doin' down here, Tom?"

Riddle stepped closer.

"It's all over," he said. "I'm going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. They're talking about closing Hogwarts if the attacks don't stop."

"What d'yeh -"

"I don't think you meant to kill anyone. But monsters don't make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise and -"

"It never killed no one!" the large boy said, backing against the closed door. From behind him, Harry and I could hear a funny rustling and clicking.

"Come on, Rubeus," Riddle said, moving yet closer. "The dead girl's parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make sure that the thing that killed their daughter is slaughtered. . . ."

"It wasn't him!" the boy roared, his voice echoing in the dark passage. "He wouldn'! He never!"

"Stand aside," Riddle said, drawing out his wand.

His spell lit the corridor with a sudden flaming light. The door behind the large boy flew open with such force it knocked him into the wall opposite. And out of it came something that made both Harry and I let out long, piercing screams unheard by anyone -

A vast, low-slung, hairy body and a tangle of black legs; a gleam of many eyes and a pair of razor-sharp pincers - Riddle raised his wand again, but he was too late. The thing bowled him over as it scuttled away, tearing up the corridor and out of sight. Riddle scrambled to his feet, looking after it; he raised his wand, but the huge boy leapt on him, seized his wand, and threw him back down, yelling, "NOOOOOOO!"

The scene whirled, the darkness became complete; Harry hugged me tightly to him as we felt ourselves falling. With a crash, we landed on top of each other on his four-poster in the Gryffindor dormitory, Riddle's diary lying open next to us.

Before we had had time to regain our breath, the dormitory door opened and Ron came in.

"There you two ar - oh, I-I hope I'm not interrupting something," he said, blushing deeply under his freckles. Harry and I were confused on what he meant until we saw the position we were in: Harry held himself above me with his hands on either side of me on the bed, my arms were wrapped lightly around his neck and my knee was digging into his stomach. We both turned a bright red and I gently pushed Harry off me to sit up. We were both sweating and shaking.

"What's up with you two? I hope you don't do that while you're living with your Muggles," Ron said, his expression a mix of concern and embarrassment.

"It was Hagrid, Ron. Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago."


	14. Cornelius Fudge

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Cornelius Fudge**

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I had always known that Hagrid had an unfortunate liking for large and monstrous creatures. During our first year at Hogwarts he had tried to raise a dragon in his little wooden house, and it would be a long time before we forgot the giant, three-headed dog he'd christened 'Fluffy'. And if, as a boy, Hagrid had heard that a monster was hidden somewhere in the castle, both Harry and I were sure he'd have gone to any lengths for a glimpse of it. He'd probably thought it was a shame that the monster had been cooped up so long, and thought it deserved the chance to stretch its many legs; Harry and I could just imagine the thirteen-year-old Hagrid trying to fit a leash and collar on it. But we were both equally certain that Hagrid would never have meant to kill anybody.

We both half wished we hadn't found out how to work Riddle's diary. Again and again Ron and Hermione made us recount what we'd seen, until we were heartily sick of telling them and sick of the long, circular conversations that followed.

"Riddle _might _have got the wrong person," Hermione said. "Maybe it was some other monster that was attacking people. . . . "

"How many monsters d'you think this place can hold?" Ron asked dully.

"We always knew Hagrid had been expelled," Harry said miserably as I rubbed his back. "And the attacks must've stopped after Hagrid was kicked out. Otherwise, Riddle wouldn't have got his award."

Ron tried a different tack.

"Riddle _does_ sound like Percy - who asked him to squeal on Hagrid, anyway?"

"But the monster had _killed_ someone, Ron," Hermione said.

"And Riddle was going to go back to some Muggle orphanage if they closed Hogwarts," Harry remembered. I frowned as it clicked in my mind too. "We don't blame him for wanting to stay here. . . .he probably had it as bad as Harry and I do with the Dursleys."

"You both met Hagrid down Knockturn Alley, didn't you, Harry, Chey?"

"He was buying a Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent," Harry and I responded quickly.

The four of us fell silent. After a long pause, Hermione voiced the knottiest question of all in a hesitant voice.

"Do you think we should go and _ask_ Hagrid about it all?"

"That'd be a cheerful visit," Ron said. " 'Hello Hagrid. Tell us, have you been setting anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?"

In the end, we decided that we wouldn't say anything to Hagrid unless there was another attack, and as more and more days went by with no whisper from the disembodied voice, we became hopeful that we would never need to talk to him about why he had been expelled. It was now nearly four months since Justin and Nearly Headless Nick had been Petrified, and nearly everybody seemed to think that the attacker, whoever it was, had retired for good. Peeves had finally got bored of his "Oh Powter, you rotters" song, Ernie Macmillan asked Harry quite politely to pass a bucket of leaping toadstools in Herbology one day, and in March several of the Mandrakes threw a loud and raucous party in greenhouse three. This made Professor Sprout very happy.

"The moment they start trying to move into each other's pots, we'll know they're fully mature," she told Harry and I one day after Herbology. "Then we'll be able to revive those poor people in the hospital wing."

The second years were given something new to think about during our Easter holidays. The time had come to choose our subjects for the third year, a matter that Hermione, and I to a certain extent at least, took very seriously.

"It could affect our whole future," she was telling Harry and Ron as we pored over lists of new subjects, marking them with checks.

"I just want to give up Potions," Harry said as we considered whether to join Care of Magical Creatures class.

"We can't," Ron said gloomily. "We keep all our old subjects, or I'd've ditched Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"But that's very important!" Hermione said, shocked.

"Not the way Lockhart teaches it," Ron said. "I haven't learned anything from him except not to set pixies loose."

Neville Longbottom had been sent letters from all the witches and wizards in his family, all giving him different advice on what to choose. Confused and worried, he sat reading the subject lists with his tongue poking out, asking people whether they thought Arithmancy sounded more difficult than the study of Ancient Runes. Dean Thomas, who, like Harry and I, had grown up with Muggles, ended up closing his eyes and jabbing his wand at the list, then picking the subjects it landed on. Hermione took nobody's advice but signed up for everything.

Harry and I would talk grimly of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's reactions if we tried to discuss our careers in wizardry with them. Not that we didn't get any guidance: Percy Weasley was eager to share his experience.

"Depends where you both want to _go_, Harry, Cheyenne," he said. "It's never too early to think about the future, so I'd recommend Divination. People say Muggle Studies is a soft option, but I personally think witches and wizards should have a thorough understanding of the non-magical community, particularaly if they're thinking of working in close contact with them - look at my father, he has to deal with Muggle business all the time. My brother Charlie was always more of an outdoor type, so he went for Care of Magical Creatures. Play to both your strengths, Harry, Cheyenne."

But the only thing Harry felt he was really good at was Quidditch. In the end, he chose the same new subjects as Ron, feeling that if he was lousy at them, at least he'd have someone friendly to help him. I chose those classes as well, but with the addition of Art and Music, which were both extra-curricular subjects that I found interesting considering I'd always loved to draw and sing. It was good to branch out and find my own footing in the wizarding world, even if it meant doing things differently from Harry. But, then again, my best friend and I would always be close and no one would be able to break that bond, no matter what they did.

Gryffindor's next Quidditch match would be against Hufflepuff. Wood was insisting on team practices every night after dinner, so that neither Harry nor I had any time for anything but Quidditch and homework. However, the training sessions were getting better, or at least drier, and the evening before Saturday's match we went up to our dormitories to drop off our broomsticks feeling Gryffindor's chances for the Quidditch cup had never been better.

But our cheerful mood didn't last long. I'd just come back down to the half-empty Gryffindor common room and joined Hermione, who was sitting alone, reading a book called _Ancient Runes Made Easy_, when we heard a horrible yell sound from the top of the staircase leading to the second year boys' dormitory. I jumped, my thoughts immediately shooting toward Harry. Hermione grabbed my arm to stop me from going up the staircase, saying I could get into trouble and that I should wait for Harry and Ron to come down and tell us what had happened. Dean, Seamus and Ron had gone upstairs to see what had happened and I tapped my foot impatiently, crossing my arms over my chest to wait to hear what had happened.

About ten minutes later, Harry and Ron hurried down the stairs and joined Hermione and I where we were sitting by the window. He told us everything that had happened, from everything in his trunk being thrown about the room to Tom Riddle's diary being gone.

Hermione and I were both shocked at the news.

"But - only a Gryffindor could have stolen - nobody else knows our password -"

"Exactly," Harry said.

We woke the next day to brilliant sunshine and a light, refreshing breeze.

"Perfect Quidditch conditions!" Wood said enthusiastically at the Gryffindor table, loading the team's plates with scrambled eggs. "Harry, Cheyenne, buck up there, you both need a decent breakfast."

Both Harry and I had been staring down the packed Gryffindor table, wondering if the new owner of Riddle's diary was right in front of our eyes. Hermione had been urging us to report the robbery, but neither of us liked the idea. We'd have to tell a teacher all about the diary, and how many people knew why Hagrid had been expelled fifty years ago? We didn't want to be the ones who brought it all up again.

As we left the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione to go and collect our Quidditch things, another very serious worry was added to my and Harry's growing list. We had just set foot on the marble staircase when we heard it yet again -

_"Kill this time. . .let me rip. . .tear. . ."_

We both shouted aloud and Ron and Hermione both jumped away from us in alarm.

"The voice!" Harry and I said, looking over our shoulders. "We just heard it again - didn't you?"

Ron shook his head, wide-eyed, Hermione, however, clapped a hand to her forehead.

"Harry, Chey - I think I've just understood something! I've got to go to the library!"

And she sprinted away, up the stairs. Fearing that Hermione could be the next victim, I sprinted after her, calling to Harry that I'd meet him at the Quidditch patch.

"He-Hermione, wait up!" I called, running as fast as I could after her. She slowed down just enough for me to catch up before hurrying down the next corridor, "Now. . . now, what is it you understand?" I asked, keeping up a decent pace with her as we hurried down each corridor, her muttering things under her breath. I strained to hear that same cold voice over my racing heart and the loud noises our shoes were making on the stone floor.

"Hermione, please, just tell me what's going on! You're killing me here!" I said, growing impatient at not receiving an answer to my earlier question. I had no idea what in Merlin's Beard she had figured out, but I knew that it was driving me nuts just to know. Hermione looked at me with a raised eyebrow as though asking how I couldn't have figure out what she had as we entered the library, brushing quickly past the front desk and disappearing among the many shelves.

Hermione found us a table in a secluded area in a corner of the library and plopped her stuff down without a word before bustling off to search the shelves. I stared after her, blinking and wondering what in the world was going on! It wasn't like her to completely ignore me like this unless it was something really really important that she needed to do and wanted to do _alone._ I groaned softly and plopped down in a seat by her stuff, leaning my head in my hand with a frown. I really wished Hermione would just share _something_ with me so I had at least a basic idea of what was going on. It made me anxious when I didn't know what was going on, especially when it was something really important and _this_ was important.

It was hard to listen for that same cold voice here even though it was quiet, but the sound of Hermione mumbling and rustling through the books was distracting me even more so I couldn't focus on trying to find that voice again. Groaning once more, I stood quickly and left the library after quickly scribbling a note to Hermione that said I was going to the bathroom and would be back in a couple of minutes. I followed the corridor as far as Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, where I stepped inside quickly to check and see if Myrtle had heard anything of the disembodied voice that no one but Harry and I seemed to hear. I hoped perhaps if the voice was that of a phantom's that another ghost would have been able to hear it too.

However, as I entered the darkened chamber, Myrtle's desperate wailings drowned out all thoughts as my ear drums rang and my head throbbed with pain. Covering my ears quickly, I left the chamber, nearly marvelling in the blissful silence of the corridor outside. I breathed slowly in and out, rubbing my temples in hopes of relieving some of the ache. Then, I heard it again.

_So hungry . .let me devour you. . . .let me consume you. . . ._

I froze as the voice washed over me and fear spike through my body. The voice was heading away from me and toward -

"_Hermione!"_ I shrieked, sprinting back up the hall toward the library as quickly as I could. I couldn't believe I'd just left my best friend alone while the monster was still on the loose. The whole point of me being late for the Quidditch match was to follow Hermione to the library and be sure she wasn't attacked and I'd gone and wondered off, leaving her vunerable. I couldn't believe how selfish I'd been, just thinking about myself when trying to figure how what she'd figured out and in leaving her alone in the library to find the very voice heading right back in her direction. Why couldn't I have just been a little more patient and stayed?

_(Oh gods, please, let her be all right!) _I thought frantically, skidding around the next corner, hearing that cold voice getting closer, louder, more ravenous. I pushed myself faster, my feet pounding against the ground as I raced down the last corridor, praying and hoping I wouldn't be too late. I burst onto the last corridor, panting and sprinted toward the library, not slowing my pace until my eyes found the two prone figures laying beside each other on the ground. I skid to a stop, frozen, my eyes wide, the little air I had being riped from my lungs as I saw who it was.

A fifth-year girl with long, curly hair lay quite still on the floor, her hand clutched around a small, circular mirror. I recognized her as the Ravenclaw Harry, Ron and I had accidentally asked for directions to the Slytherin common room. And laying beisde her was -

"Hermione!" I squeaked, tears swelling in my eyes as I collapsed next to her, chewing my lip, hard, to prevent the tears from spilling over, "I'm so sorry, Hermione, I'm so sorry. I should've stayed with you." I whispered, tears spilling down my cheeks. "It's all my fault. . . I shouldn't have wondered off and left you so vunerable like that. I'm sorry. . . ." I covered my face with my hands, hunching over in a fetal position as I cried, angry at myself for allowing this to happen. "Help. . . ." the word escaped me before I could stop it, a weak, feeble attempt at catching someone's attention. I said it again and again, each time becoming louder and more powerful, "Help, somebody. . . .help, please help. . . .there's been another attack!" My throat screamed in protest as I strained it's cords to shriek out the words, hoping to draw someone's attention, "Help, somebody! There's been another double attack. Someone, help!" The sounds of doors slamming met my desparate calls and the sound of several pairs of feet pounded in my ears as Professors McGonagall, Snape and Lockhart appeared. Professor McGonagall gasped and knelled by Hermione.

Snape leered at me and roughly grabbed my right forearm, jerking me upright, "Power, I should have known it would be you." he growled.

"Oh, Severus, stop it, can't you see how distraught she is? This is her best friend!" Professor McGonagall snapped, standing and pulling me from Snape's grasp. I sniffled pitifully, quickly wiping the tears off my cheeks to recollect myself. Snape huffed and rolled his eyes as Lockhart knelled down by the Ravenclaw girl.

"These two need to be taken to the Hospital Wing and the other students need to be informed of the current events. Gilderoy, take that Ravenclaw student and Severus, take Miss Gran-" "No, no, Professor McGonagall, I'll take Hermione." I said softly, speaking up for the first time since they'd arrived. Professor McGonagall raised a brow at me, but didn't protest as she released me and allowed me to stoop down and pick Hermione up. It was difficult to find a way to hold her up and walk, but I finally just resolved to carrying her on my back all the way to the Hospital Wing. Snape and Lockhart followed with the Ravenclaw girl, supporting her by the head and feet. When we arrived, Madam Pomfrey ushered us inside and showed us where to lay the two girls down.

I took a seat next to Hermione's bed, glazing sadly at her blank face and glassy eyes. I blinked slowly, a few more tears escaping my eyes and I sighed, running my hands though my hair. I sat there silently for twenty minutes before I could heard hurried steps coming closer, Professor McGonagall's whispered voice coming in through the open infirmary door. Then -

_"Hermione!"_ Ron groaned and I lifted my head, turning to look at the boys, more tears escaping my eyes. Harry hurried closer and cupped my cheek, asking what happened.

"They were found near the library," Professor McGonagall said. "I don't suppose any of you can explain this? It was on the floor next to them. . . ."

She held up the small, circular mirror.

Harry, Ron and I shook our heads, the boys staring at Hermione as I buried my face in Harry's chest. He wrapped his arms around me, rubbing my back soothingly.

"I will escort you all back to Gryffindor Tower," Professor McGonagall said heavily. "I need to address the students in any case."

"All students will return to their House common room by six o'clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All futher Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities."

The Gryffindors packed inside the common room listened to Professor McGonagall in silence. She rolled up the parchment from which she had been reading and said in a somewhat choked voice, "I need hardly add that I have rarely been so distressed. It is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would urge anyone who thinks they might know anything about them to come forward."

She climbed somewhat awkwardly out of the portrait hole, and the Gryffindors began talking immediately.

"That's two Gryffindors down, not counting a Gryffindor ghost, one Ravenclaw, and one Hufflepuff," the Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan said, counting on his fingers. "Haven't _any_ of the teachers noticed that the Slytherins are all safe? Isn't it _obvious_ all this stuff's coming from Slytherin? The _Heir_ of Slytherin, the _monster_ of Slytherin - why don't they just chuck all the Slytherins out?" he roared, to nods and scattered applause.

Percy Weasley was sitting in a chair behind Lee, but for once he didn't seem keen to make his views heard. He was looking pale and stunned.

"Percy's in shock," George told Harry and I quietly. "That Ravenclaw girl - Penelope Clearwater - she's a prefect. I don't think he thought the monster would dark attack a _prefect_."

But the two of us were only half-listening. Neither of us seemed to be able to get rid of the picture of Hermione, lying on the hospital bed as though carved out of stone. I was leaning my head against his chest, having stopped crying a few minutes ago. His arm was wrapped loosely around my shoulders, his hand rubbing my opposite shoulder, his cheek leaning gently against my forehead. If the culprit wasn't caught soon, we were looking at a lifetime back with the Dursleys. Tom Riddle had turned Hagrid in because he was faced with the prospect of a Muggle orphanage if the school closed. Both Harry and I now knew exactly how he had felt.

"What're we going to do?" Ron said quietly to Harry and I. "D'you think they suspect Hagrid?"

"We've got to go and talk to him," Harry said, making up both our minds. "Neither Chey nor I can believe it's him this time, but if he set the monster loose last time he'll know how to get inside the Chamber of Secrets, and that's a start."

"But McGonagall said we've got to stay in our tower unless we're in class -"

"I think," Harry said, gently squeezing my shoulder, making me lift my gaze some, "it's time to get our dad's old cloaks out again."

Both Harry and I had inherited just one thing from both our fathers: two long and silvery Invisbility Cloaks. It was our only chance of sneaking out of the school to visit Hagrid without anyone knowing about it. We went to bed at the usual time, waited until our dormmates had stopped discussing the Chamber of Secrets and finally fallen asleep, then we got up, dressed again and met back in the deserted common room, where I tied a small, thin rope around my ankle and Harry's ankle and we threw the Invisibility Cloaks on.

The journey through the dark and deserted castle corridors wasn't enjoyable. Neither Harry nor I, both of us having wondered the castle at night several times before, had never seen it so crowded after sunset. Teachers, prefects, and ghosts were marching the corridors in pairs, staring around for any unusual activity. Our Invisibility Cloaks didn't stop us making any noise, and there was a particularly tense moment when Ron stubbed his toe only yards from the spot where Snape stood standing guard. Thankfully, Snape sneezed at almost exactly the moment Ron swore. It was with relief that we reached the oak front doors and eased them open.

It was a clear, starry night. We hurried toward the lit windows of Hagrid's house and pulled off the cloaks only when we were right outside his front door.

Seconds after we had knocked, Hagrid flung it open. We found ourselves face-to-face with him aiming a crossbow at us. Fang the boarhound barked loudly behind him.

"Oh," he said, lowering the weapon and staring at us. "What're you three doin' here?"

"What's that for?" Harry said, pointing at the crossbow as we stepped inside.

"Nothin' - nothin' -" Hagrid muttered. "I've bin expectin' - doesn' matter - Sit down - I'll make tea -"

He hardly seemed to know what he was doing. He nearly extinquished the fire, spilling water from the kettle on it, and then smashed the teapot with a nervous jerk of his massive hand.

"Are you okay, Hagrid?" Harry and I asked. "Did you hear about Hermione?"

"Oh, I heard, all righ'," Hagrid said, a slight break in his voice.

He kept glancing nervously at the windows. He poured all three of us large mugs of boiling water (he had forgotten to add tea bags) and was just putting a slab of fruitcake on a plate when there was a loud knock on the door.

Hagrid dropped the fruitcake. Harry, Ron and I exchanged panic-striken looks, then threw the Invisibility Cloaks back over ourselves and retreated into a corner. Hagrid checked that we were hidden, seized his crossbow, and flung open his door once more.

"Good evening, Hagrid."

It was Dumbledore. He entered, looking deadly serious, and was followed by a second, very odd-looking man.

The stranger had rumpled gray hair and an anxious expression, and was wearing a strange mixture of clothes: a pinstriped suit, a scarlet tie, a long black cloak, and pointed purple boots. Under his arm he carried a lime-green bowler.

"That's Dad's boss!" I heard Ron breath. "Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic!"

Hagrid had gone pale and sweaty. He dropped into one of his chairs and looked from Dumbledore to Cornelius Fudge.

"Bad business, Hagrid," Fudge said in rather clipped tones. "Very bad business. Had to come. Four attacks on Muggle-borns. Thing've gone far enough. Ministry's got to act."

"I never," Hagrid said, looking imploringly at Dumbledore. "You know I never, Professor Dumbledore, sir -"

"I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence," Dumbledore said, frowning at Fudge.

"Look, Albus," Fudge said, uncomfortably. "Hagrid's record's against him. Ministry's got to do something - the school governors have been in touch -"

"Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help in the slightest," Dumbledore said. His blue eyes were full of a fire neither Harry nor I had ever seen before.

"Look at is from my point of view," Fudge said, fidgeting with his bowler. "I'm under a lot of pressure. Got to be seen to be doing something. If it turns out it wasn't Hagrid, he'll be back and no more said. But I've got to take him. Got to. Wouldn't be doing my duty -"

"Take me?" Hagrid said, who was trembling. "Take me where?"

"For a short stretch only," Fudge said, not meeting Hagrid's eyes. "Not a punishment, Hagrid, more a precaution. If someone else is caught, you'll be let out with a full apology -"

"Not Azkaban?" Hagrid croaked.

Before Fudge could answer, there was another loud rap on the door.

Dumbledore answered it. I heard Harry give an audible gasp. Ron must've done something to keep him quiet because the sigh broke off midway.

Mr. Lucius Malfoy strode into Hagrid's hut, swathed in a long black traveling cloak, smiling a cold and satisfied smile. Fang started to growl.

"Already here, Fudge," he said approvingly. "Good, good. . ."

"What're you doin' here?" Hagrid said furiously. "Get outta my house!"

"My dear man, please believe me, I have no pleasure at all in beside inside your - er - d'you call this a house?" Lucius Malfoy said, sneering as he looked around the small cabin. "I simply called at the school and was told that the headmaster was here."

"And what exactly did you want with me, Lucius?" Dumbledore said. He spoke politely, but the fire was still blazing in his blue eyes.

_"Dreadful_ thing, Dumbledore," Malfoy said lazily, taking out a long roll of parchment, "but the governors feel it's time for you to step side. This is an Order of Suspension - you'll find all twelve signatures on it. I'm afraid we feel you're losing your touch. How many attacks have there been now? Two more this afternoon, wasn't it? At this rate, there'll be no Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts, and we all know what an _awful_ loss that would be to the school."

"Oh, now, see here, Lucius," Fudge said, looking alarmed. "Dumbledore suspended - no, no - last thing we want just now -"

"The appointment - or suspension - of the headmaster is a matter for the governors, Fudge," Mr. Malfoy said smoothly. "And as Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks -"

"See here, Malfoy, if _Dumbledore_ can't stop them," Fudge said, whose upper lip was sweating now, "I mean to say, who _can_?"

"That remains to be seen," Mr. Malfoy said with a nasty smile. "But as all twelve of us have voted -"

Hagrid leapt to his feet, his shaggy black head grazing the ceiling.

"An' how many did yeh have ter threaten an' blackmail before they agreed, Malfoy, eh?" he roared.

"Dear, dear, you know, that temper of yours will lead you into trouble one of these days, Hagrid," Mr. Malfoy said. "I would advice you not to shout at the Azkaban guards like that. They won't like it at all."

"Yeh can' take Dumbledore!" Hagrid yelled, making Fang the boarhound cower and whimper in his basket. "Take him away, an' the Muggle-borns won' stand a chance! There'll be killin' next!"

"Calm yourself, Hagrid," Dumbledore said sharply. He looked at Lucius Malfoy. "If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside -"

"But -" Fudge stuttered.

_"No!"_ Hagrid growled.

Dumbledore had not taken his bright blue eyes off Lucius Malfoy's cold gray ones.

"However," Dumbledore said, speaking very slowly and clearing so that none of us could miss a word, "you will find that I will only _truly_ have left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

For a second, I was almost sure Dumbledore's eyes flickered toward the corner where Harry, Ron and I stood hidden.

"Admirable sentiments," Malfoy said, bowing. "We shall all miss your - er - hightly individual way of running things, Albus, and only hope that your successor will manage to prevent any - ah - _killins_."

He strode to the cabin door, opened it, and bowed Dumbledore out. Fudge, fiddling with his bowler, waited for Hagrid to go ahead of him, but Hagrid stood his ground, took a deep breath, and said carefully, "If anyone wanted ter find out some _stuff_, all they'd have ter do would be ter follow the _spiders_. That'd lead 'em right! That's all I'm sayin'."

Fudge started at him in amazement.

"All right, I'm comin'," Hagrid said, pulling on his moleskin overcoat. But as he was about to follow Fudge through the door, he stopped again and said loudly, "An' someone'll need ter feed Fang while I'm away."

The door banged shut and Ron and I pulled off the Invisibility Cloaks.

"We're in trouble now," he said hoarsely. "No Dumbledore. They might as well close the school tonight. There'll be an attack a day with him gone."

Fang started howling, scratching at the closed door.


	15. Aragog

**Chapter Fifteen **

**Aragog**

Summer was creeping over the grounds around the castle; sky and lake alike turned periwinkle blue and flowers large as cabbages burst into bloom in the greenhouses. But with no Hagrid visible from the castle windows, striding the grounds with Fang at his heels, the scene didn't look right to either Harry nor I; no better, in fact, than the inside of the castle, where things were so horribly wrong.

Harry, Ron and I had tried to visit Hermione, but visitors were now barred from the hospital wing.

"We're taking no more chances," Madam Pomfrey told us severely through a crack in the infirmary door. "No, I'm sorry, there's every chance the attacker might come back to finish these people off. . . ."

With Dumbledore gone, fear had spread as never before, so that the sun warming the castle walls outside seemed to stop at the mulioned windows. There was barely a face to be seen in the school that didn't look worried and tense, and any laughter that rang through the corridors sounded shrill and unnatural and was quickly stifled.

Harry and I constantly repeated Dumbledore's final words to both ourselves and each other. _"I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me. . . .Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."_ But what good were these words? Who exactly were we supposed to ask for help, when everyone else was just as confused and scared as we were?

Hagrid's hint about the spiders was far easier to understand - the trouble was, there didn't seem to be a single spider left in the castle to follow. Both Harry and I, me rather reluctantly, looked everywhere we went, helped, just like me: reluctantly, by Ron. We were hampered, of course, by the fact that we weren't allowed to wander off on our own but had to move around the castle in a pack with the other Gryffindors. Most of our fellow students seemed glad that we were being shepherded from class to class by teachers, but both Harry and I found it very irrritating.

One person, however, seemed to be throughly enjoying the atmosphere of terror and suspicion. Draco Malfoy was strutting around the school as though he had just been appointed Head Boy. Neither Harry nor I realized what he was so pleased about until the Potions lesson about two weeks after Dumbledore and Hagrid had left, when, sitting right behind Malfoy, we overheard him gloating to Crabbe and Goyle.

"I always thought Father might be the one who got rid of Dumbledore," he said, not troubling to keep his voice down. "I told you he thinks Dumbledore's the worst headmaster the school's ever had. Maybe we'll get a decent headmaster now. Someone who won't _want_ the Chamber of Secrets closed. McGonagall won't last long, she's only filling in. . . ."

Snape swept past Harry and I, making no comment about Hermione's empty seat and cauldron.

"Sir," Malfoy said loudly. "Sir, why don't _you_ apply for the headmaster's job?"

"Now, now, Malfoy," Snape said, though he couldn't suppress a thin-lipped smile. "Professor Dumbledore has only been suspended by the governors. I daresay he'll be back with us soon enough."

"Yeah, right," Malfoy said, smirking. "I expect you'd have Father's vote, sir, if you wanted to apply for the job - _I'll _tell Father you're the best teacher here, sir -"

Snape smirked as he swept off around the dungeon, fortunately not spotting Seamus Finnigan, who was pretending to vomit into his cauldron.

"I'm quite surprised the Mudbloods haven't all packed their bags by now," Malfoy went on. "Bet you five Galleons the next one dies. Pity it wasn't Granger -"

The bell rang at that moment, which was lucky; at Malfoy's last words, Ron had leapt off his stool, and in the scramble to collect bags and books, his attempts to reach Malfoy went unnoticed.

"Let me at him," Ron growled as Harry and Dean hung onto his arms. I scrambled to pack all our things, ducking around the boys to avoid Ron's thrashing body. "I don't care, I don't need my wand, I'm going to kill him with my bare hands -"

"Hurry up, I've got to take you all to Herbology," Snape barked over the class's heads, and off we marched, with Harry, Ron, Dean and I bringing up the rear, Ron still trying to get loose. It was only safe to let go of him when Snape had seen us out of the castle and we were making our way across the vegetable patch toward the greenhouses.

The Herbology class was very subdued; there was now two missing from our number, Justin and Hermione.

Professor Sprout set us all to work pruning the Abyssinian Shrivelfigs. Harry and I went to tip a couple of armfuls of withered stalks onto the compost heap and found ourselves face-to-face with Ernie Macmillan. Erin took a deep breath and said, very formally, "I just want to say, Harry, Cheyenne, that I'm sorry I ever suspected either of you. I know neither of you'd ever attack Hermione Granger, and I apologize for all the stuff I said. We're all in the same boat now, and, well -"

He held out a pudgy hand, and Harry and I, in turn, shook it.

Ernie and his friend Hannah came to work at the same Shrivelfig as Harry, Ron and I.

"That Draco Malfoy character," Ernie said, breaking off dead twigs, "he seems very pleased about all this, doesn't he? D'you know, I think _he_ might be Slytherin's heir."

"That's clever of you," Ron said, who didn't seem to have forgiven Ernie as readily as Harry and I.

"Do you think it's Malfoy, Harry, Cheyenne?" Ernie asked.

"No," Harry said, so firmly that Ernie and Hannah stared at him before glancing at me. I pursed my lips and turned my eyes back to the Shrivelfig.

A second later, Harry pointed out something.

Several large spiders were scuttling over the ground on the other side of the class, moving in an unnaturally straight line as though taking the shortest route to a prearranged meeting. Harry hit Ron over the hand with his pruning shears.

_"Ouch! _What're you -"

Harry pointed out the spiders as I followed their progress with my eyes screwed up against the sun.

"Oh, yeah," Ron said, trying, and failing, to look pleased. "But we can't follow them now -"

Ernie and Hannah were listening curiously.

Narrowing my eyes, I focused only on the spiders. If they persued their fixed course, there could be no doubt about where they would end up.

"Looks like they're heading for the Forbidden Forest. . . ."

And Ron looked even unhappier about that.

At the end of the lesson Professor Sprout escorted the class to our Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. Harry, Ron and I lagged behind the others so we could talk out of eartshot.

"We'll have to use the Invisibility Cloaks again," Harry and I told Ron. "We can take Fang with us. He's used to going into the forest with Hagrid, he might be some help."

"Right," Ron said, who was twirling his wand nervously in his fingers. "Er - aren't there - aren't there supposed to be werewolves in the forest?" he added as we took our usual places at the back of Lockhart's classroom.

Deciding to not answer that question, Harry said instead, "There are good things in there too. The centaurs are all right, and the unicorns. . ."

Ron had never been into the Forbidden Forest before. Both Harry and I had entered it only once and had hoped never to do so again.

Lockhart bounded into the room and the class stared at him. Every other teacher in the place was looking grimmer than usual, but Lockhart appeared nothing short of buoyant.

"Come now," he cried, beaming around himself. "Why all these long faces?"

People swapped exasperated looks, but nobody answered.

"Don't you people realize," Lockhart said, speaking slowly, as though we were all a bit dim, "the danger has passed! The culprit has been taken away -"

"Says who?" Dean Thomas said loudly.

"My dear young man, the Minister of Magic wouldn't have taken Hagrid if he hadn't been one hundred percent sure that he was guilty," Lockhart said, in the tone of someone explaining that one and one made two. I swear, I think I lost about five IQ points just by being in the same room as this man.

"Oh, yes he would," Ron said, even more loudly than Dean.

"I flatter myself I know a _touch_ more about Hagrid's arrest than you do, Mr. Weasley," Lock said in a self-satisfied tone.

Ron started to say that he didn't think so, somehow, but stopped in midsentence when Harry kicked him hard under the desk.

"We weren't there, remember?" I murmured quickly.

But Lockhart's disgusting cheeriness, his hints that he had always thought Hagrid was no good, his confidence that the whole business was now at an end, irritated both Harry and I so much that we yearned to throw _Gadding with Ghouls_ right in Lockhart's stupid face. Instead we contented ourselves by scrawling a combined note to Ron: _Let's do it tonight._

Ron read the message, swallowed hard, and looked sideways at the empty seat usually filled by Hermione. The sight seemed to stiffen his resolve, and he nodded.

The Gryffindor common room was always very crowded these days, because from six o'clock onward the Gryffindors had no where else to go. They also had plenty to talk about, with the result that the common room often didn't empty until past midnight.

Harry and I went to get the Invisibility Cloaks out of our trunks right after dinner, and spent the evening sitting on them, waiting for the room to clear. Fred and George challenged Harry and Ron to a few games of Exploding Snap, and both Ginny and I saw watching them, her very subdued in Hermione's usual chair. I knew Harry and Ron kept losing on purpose, trying to finish the games quickly, but even so, it was well past midnight when Fred, George and Ginny finally went to bed.

As soon as all three were out of sight, I slid out of my seat, taking an extremely thin piece of rope from my pocket and tied it around Harry's ankle, then my own as we waited for the distant sounds of two dormitory doors closing. Then we seized the cloaks, threw them over ourselves, and climbed through the portrait hole one at a time.

It was another difficult journey through the castle, dodging all the teachers. At last we reached the entrance hall, slid back the lock on the oak front doors, squeezed between them, trying to stop any creaking, and stepped out into the moonlit grounds.

" 'Course," I heard Ron say abruptly as we strode across the black grass, "we might get to the forest and find there's nothing to follow. Those spiders might not've been going there at all. I know it looked like they were moving in that sort of general direction, but. . . ."

His voice trailed away hopefully. I secretly agreed, but knew that we had to get this over with so we could find out who was the real culprit behind the attacks on Muggle-borns.

We reached Hagrid's house, said and sorry-looking with its blank windows. When Harry pushed the door open, Fang went mad with joy at the sight of us. Worried he might wake everyone at the castle with his deep, booming barks, we hastily fed him treacle fudge from a tin on the mantelpiece, which glued his teeth together.

Harry and I left the Invisibility Cloaks on Hagrid's table. There would be no need for them in the pitch-dark forest. I remembered to take off the rope and left it with the cloaks so it wouldn't slow us down.

"C'mon, Fang, we're going for a walk," Harry said, patting his leg, and Fang bounded happily out of the house behind us, dashed to the edge of the forest, and lifted his leg against a large sycamore tree.

Harry took out his wand, murmured, _"Lumos!" _and a tiny light appeared at the end of it, just enough to let us watch the path for signs of spiders.

"Good thinking," Ron said as I took my wand out too and lit the end. "I'd light mine, too, but you know - it'd probably blow up or something. . . ."

Harry pointed out something in the grass. Two solitary spiders were hurrying away from the wandlight into the shade of the trees.

"Okay," Ron sighed as though resigned to the worse, "I'm ready. Let's go."

So, with Fang scampering around us, sniffing tree roots and leaves, we entered the forest. By the glow of both my and Harry's wands, we followed the steady trickle of spiders moving along the path. We walked behind them for about twenty minutes, not speaking, listening hard for noises other than brekaing twigs and rustling leaves. Then, when the trees had become thicker than ever, so that the stars overhead were no longer visible, and both our wands shone alone in the sea of dark, we saw our spider guides leaving the path.

Harry and I paused together, trying to see where the spiders were going, but everything outside our little sphere of light was pitch-black. We had never been this deep into the forest before. We could vividly remember Hagrid advising us not to leave the forest path last time we'd been in here. But Hagrid was miles away now, probably sitting in a cell in Azkaban, and he had also said to follow the spiders.

I saw, out of the corner of my eye, Harry jump backward, making Ron yelp when he crushed his foot. It just turned out to be Fang's nose, however.

"What d'you reckon?" Harry said to Ron and I. I could just make out his eyes, reflecting the light from our wands.

"We've come this far," Ron said.

So we followed the darting shadows of the spiders into the trees. We couldn't move very quickly now; there were tree roots and stumps in our way, barely visible in the near blackness. I could feel Fang brushing against my leg every once in a while, Harry's hand brushing mine. More than once we had to stop, so that Harry could crouch down and find the spiders in the wandlight.

We walked for what seemed like at least half an hour, our robes snagging on low-slung branches and brambles. After a while, we noticed that the ground seemed to be sloping downward, though the trees were as thick as ever.

Then Fang suddenly let loose a great, echoing barking, making all three of us jump out of our skins.

"What?" Ron said loudly, looking aorund into the pitch-dark, and gripping Harry's elbow very hard. I glanced quickly around, my grip tightening on my wand.

"There's smoething moving over there," Harry breathed. "Listen. . .sounds like something big. . . ."

We listened. Some distance to our right, the something big was snapping branches as it carved a path through the trees.

"Oh, no," Ron said. "Oh, no, oh, no, oh -"

"Shut up," Harry said frantically. "It'll hear you."

"Hear _Ron_?" I hissed through clenched teeth. "Harry, it's already heard Fang so I don't think it hearing Ron is going to make _any _sorta differance at this point!"

The darkness seemed to be pressing on our eyeballs as we stood, terrified, waiting. There was a strange rumbling noise and then silence.

"What d'you think it's doing?" Harry asked.

"Probably getting ready to pounce," Ron said.

We waited, shivering, hardly daring to move.

"D'you think it's gone?" I whispered.

"Dunno -"

Then, to our right, came a sudden blaze of light, so bright in the darkness that all three of us flung up our hands to shield our eyes. Fang yelped and tried to run, but got lodged in a tangle of thorns and yelped even louder.

"Harry!" Ron shouted, his voice breaking with relief. "Cheyenne, it's our car!"

_"What?"_

"Come on!"

Feeling Harry take my hand, we blundered after Ron toward the light, stumbling and tripping, and a moment later we had emerged into a clearing.

Mr. Weasley's car was standing, empty, in the middle of a circle of thick trees under a roof of dense branches, its headlights ablaze. As Ron walked, open-mouthed, toward it, it moved slowly toward him, exactly like a large, turquoise dog greeting its owner.

"It's been here all the time!" Ron said delightedly, walking around the car. "Look at it. The forest's turned it wild. . . ."

The sides of the car were scratched and smeared with mud. Apparently it had taken to trundling around the forest on its own. Fang didn't seem at all keen on itl he kept closed to Harry and I, both of whom could feel him quivering. Our breathing slowing down again, Harry and I stuffed our wands back into our robes.

"And we thought it was going to attack us!" Ron said, leaning against the car and patting it. "I wondered where it had gone!"

I notice Harry squinting around on the floodlit ground for signs of more spiders. However, they had all scuttled away from the glare of the headlights.

"We've lost the trail," he said. "C'mon, let's go and find them."

Ron didn't speak. He didn't move. His eyes were fixed on a point some ten feet above the forest floor, right behind Harry. His face was livid with terror.

Neither Harry nor I even had time to turn around. The hair quickly rose on the back of my neck when I heard loud clicking noises and I latched onto Harry like he was a lifeline as we felt something long and hairy seize us both around the middle and lift us off the ground, so that we were hanging upside down. Struggling, horrified, we heard more clicking, and saw Ron's legs leave the ground, too, heard Fang whimpering and howling - next moment, we were being swept away into the dark trees.

Heads hanging, Harry and I saw that what had hold of us was marching on six immensely long, hairy legs, the front two clutching us tightly below a pair of shining black pincers. Behind us, we could hear another of the creatures, no doubt carrying Ron. We were moving into the very heart of the forest. We could hear Fang fighting to free himself from a third monster, whinning loudly, but neither Harry nor I could've yelled even if we had wanted to; we both seemed to have left our voices back with the car in the clearing.

I could feel the hair on the creatures stomach tickling my back and I groaned, giving a very weak whimper, knowing this creature was probably a giant spider. I started to hypervenilate, my breaths coming in short, desparate gasps. I never even knew how long we were in the creature's clutches; I only knew that the darkness suddenly lifted enough for Harry and I to see that the leaf-strewn ground was now swarming with spiders. I groaned, slightly louder, my hypervenilating only getting worse. Harry craned his neck sideways and said that we had reached the ridge of a vast hollow, a hollow that had been completely cleared of trees. I slowly lifted my gaze, freezing when I saw the stars shining brightly on the worst scene I had ever laid eyes on.

"Sp - sp - gi - ers, big - iry - ders," I started to stutter, my eye twitching uncontrollably. Spiders. Not tiny spiders like those surging over the leaves below. Spiders the size of carthorses, eight-eyed, eight-legged, black, hairy, gigantic. The massive specimen that was carrying Harry and myself made its way down the steep slope toward a misty, domed web in the very center of the hollow, while its fellows closed in all around it, clicking their pincers excitedly at the sight of its load.

The spider released us and I fell on top of Harry on the ground, hearing the wind getting knocked out of him as we landed. Coming quickly to my senses, I scrambled off him and knelled by my best friend, helping him sit up and rubbing his back to help him regain his breath. Ron and Fang thudded down next to us. Fang wasn't howling anymore, but cowering silently on the spot. Ron looked exactly like Harry and I felt. His mouth was stretched wide in a kind of silent scream and his eyes were popping.

Harry and I suddenly realized that the spider that had dropped us was saying something. It had been hard to tell, because he clicked his pincers with every word he spoke.

"Aragog!" it called. "Aragog!"

And from the middle of the misty, domed web, a spider the size of a small elephant emerged, very slowly. There was gray in the black of his body and legs, and each of the eyes on his ugly, pincered head was milky white. He was blind.

"What is it?" he said, clicking his pincers rapidly.

"Men," clicked the spider who had caught Harry and I. He glanced quickly at us, "And a woman, one of the men's mates."

"Is it Hagrid?" Aragog asked, moving closer, his eight milky eyes wandering vaguely.

"Strangers," clicked the spider who had brought Ron.

"Kill them," Aragog clicked fretfully. "I was sleeping. . . ."

"We're friends of Hagrid's," Harry shouted quickly. I still couldn't speak, my voicebox seeming to have dropped into my stomach.

Click, click, click went the pincers of the spiders all around the hollow.

Aragog paused.

"Hagrid has never sent men into our hollow before, let alone a woman," he said slowly.

"Hagrid's in trouble," I managed to squeak out, trembing uncontrollably. "That's why we've come."

"In trouble?" the aged spider said, and Harry and I thought we heard concern beneath the clicking pincers. "But why has he sent you?"

Harry and I glanced at each other, thinking of getting to our feet but decided against it; we didn't think our legs would support us, let alone each other. So we spoke, in turns, from the ground, as calmly as we could.

"They think, up at the school, that Hagrid's been setting a - a - something on students. They've taken him to Azkaban."

Aragog clicked his pincers furiously, and all around the hollow the sound was echoed bby the crowd of spiders; it was like applause, except applause usually didn't make me feel sick with fear.

"But that was years ago," Aragog said fretfully. "Years and years ago. I remember it well. That's why they made him leave the school. They believed that _I _was the monster that dwells in what they call the Chamber of Secrets. They thought that Hagrid had opened the Chamber and set me free."

"And you. . .you didn't come from the Chamber of Secrets?" I asked, feeling a cold sweat on my forehead.

"I!" Aragog said, clicking angrily. "I was not born in the castle. I come from a distant land. A traveler gave me to Hagrid when I was an egg. Hagrid was only a boy, but he cared for me, hidden in a cupboard in the castle, feeding me on scrapes from the table. Hagrid is my good friend, and a good man. When I was discovered, and blamed for the death of a girl, he protected me. I have lived here in the forest ever since, where Hagrid still visits me. He even found me a wife, Mosag, and you see how our family has grown, all through Hagrid's goodness. . . ."

I gulped, trying to resummon my courage.

"So you never - never attacked anyone?" Harry asked.

"Never," croaked the old spider. "It would have been my instinct, but out of respect for Hagrid, I never harmed a human. The body of the girl who was killed was discovered in a bathroom. I never saw any part of the castle but the cupboard in which I grew up. Our kind like the dark and the quiet. . . ."

"But then. . .Do you know what _did _kill that girl?" I piped up. "Because whatever it is, it's back and attacking people again -"

My words were drowned out by a loud outbreak of clicking and the rustling of many long legs shifting angrily; large black shapes shifted all around us.

"The thing that lives in the castle," Aragog said, "is an ancient creature we spiders fear above all others. Well do I remember how I pleaded with Hagrid to let me go, when I sensed the beast moving about the school."

"What is it?" Harry and I asked urgently.

More loud clicking, more rustling; the spiders seemed to be closing in. I whimpered and moved closer to Harry, who wrapped a trembling hand around my shoulders and squeezed reassuringly.

"We do not speak of it!" Aragog said fiercely. "We do not name it! I never even told Hagrid the name of that dread creature, though he asked me, many times."

Neither Harry nor I wanted to press the subject, not with the spiders pressing closer on all sides. Aragog seemed to be tired of talking. He was backing slowly into his domed web, but his fellow spiders continued to inch slowly toward Harry, Ron and I.

"We'll just go, then," Harry called desperately to Aragog, as the leaves rustled behind us.

"Go?" Aragog said slowly. "I think not. . . ."

"But - but -"

"My sons and daughters do not harm Hagrid, on my command. But I cannot deny them fresh meat, when it wanders so willingly into our midst. Good-bye, friends of Hagrid."

A loud scream finally tore from my throat as the spiders towered over us, making a solid wall, clicking their pincers, their many eyes gleaming in their ugly black heads. One close to us grabbed my leg with it's long front legs and dragged me away from Harry, it's pincers just inches from my face, "NO! HARRY!" I cried, tears springing in my eyes as I kicked with my free foot, trying to dislodge the creature from me. There was a horrible yell from nearby, a strangled cry from Ron and a loud whimpering from Fang. Harry shouted a spell, knocking the spiders off us and grabbing my arm, dragging me back toward him. He wrapped his arm around my waist, holding me close as I buried my face in his chest, sobbing.

A sudden, loud, long note sounded, and I looked up in time to see a blaze of light flame through the hollow.

Mr. Weasley's car was thundering down the slope, headlights glaring, its horn screeching, knocking spiders aside; several were thrown onto their backs, their endless legs waving in the air. The car screeched to a halt in front of Harry, Ron and I and the doors flew open.

"Get Fang!" Harry yelled, scooping me up and scrambling into the car with me in his arms; Ron seized the boardhound around the middle and threw him, yelping, into the back of the car - the doors slammed shut - Ron didn't touch the accelerator but the car didn't need him; the engine roared and we were off, hitting more spiders. We sped up the slope, out of the hollow, and we were soon crashing through the forest, branches whipping the windows as the car wound its way cleverly through the wider gaps, following a path it obviously knew.

I was clutching onto Harry like if I let go it was the end of the world, shaking, my hazel eyes glancing quickly around before they finally fell on Ron. His mouth was still open in the silent scream, but his eyes weren't popping anymore.

"Are you okay?" I heard Harry ask.

Ron stared straight ahead, unable to speak.

We smashed our way through the undergrowth. Fang howling loudly in the back seat, Harry rocking me softly in order to calm me, his hand gently rubbing my back. After ten noisy, rocky minutes, the trees thinned, and Harry said he could see patches of sky again.

The car stopped so suddenly that we were nearly thrown into the windshield. We had reached the edge of the forest. Fang flung himself at the window in his anxiety to get out, and when Harry opened the door, he shot off through the trees to Hagrid's house, tail between his legs. Harry stepped out of the car, gently setting me back on my feet, followed a minute later by Ron, who seemed to have regained the feeling in his limbs, still looking stiff-necked and staring. I stumbled after Ron toward the house, still shaking, but able to support myself without much help.

Harry went back into Hagrid's cabin to get the Invisibility Cloaks. When he returned back outside, Ron was being violently sick in the pumpkin patch.

"Follow the spiders," Ron said weakly, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "I'll never forgive Hagrid. We're lucky to be alive."

"I bet he thought Aragog wouldn't hurt friends of his," Harry said softly, having me sit on the front steps of the cabin so he could tie the rope aorund my ankle before he did the same for his.

"That's exactly Hagrid's problem!" Ron said, thumping the wall of the cabin. "He always thinks monsters aren't as bad as they're made out, and look where it's got him! A cell in Azkaban!" He was shivering uncontrollably now. "What was the point of sending us in there? What have we found out, I'd like to know!"

"That Hagrid never opened the Chamber of Secrets," I siad, speaking for the first time since we'd escaped the forest. Harry threw the cloak over Ron and I put mine on as well before we started back for the school. "He was innocent."

Ron gave a loud snort. Evidently, hatching Aragog in a cupboard wasn't his idea of being innocent.

As the castle loomed nearer, I moved the cloak to make sure my feet were covered, then we pushed the creaking front doors ajar. We walked carefully back across the entrance hall and up the marble staircase, holding our breath as we passed corridors where watchful sentries were walking. At last we reached the safety of the Gryffindor common room, where the fire had burned itself into glowing ash. We took off the cloaks, untied our ankles and I followed Harry and Ron up the winding stair to their dormitory, not wanting to return to my dormitory alone.

Ron fell onto his bed without bothering to get undressed. Neither Harry nor I, however, didn't feel very sleeping. We sat together on the edge of his four-poster, thinking hard about everything Aragog had said.

The creature that was lurking somewhere in the castle, we thought/discussed, sounded like a sort of monster Voldemort - even other monsters didn't want to name it. But Ron, Harry and I were no closer to finding out what it was, or how it Petrified its victims. Even Hagrid had never known what was in the Chamer of Secrets.

Harry swung his legs up onto his bed and leaned back against his pillows. I moved up and lay beside him, leaning my head against his chest and covering myself with my cloak to conseal myself from the other boys in case one of them woke up. Harry wrapped one arm around me and we watched the moon glinting at us through the tower window.

Neither of us could see what else we could do. We had hit dead ends everywhere. Riddle had caught the wrong person, the Heir of Slytherin had got off, and no one could tell whether it was the same person, or a different one, who had opened the Chamber this time. There was nobody else to ask. Harry lay down, both of us still thinking about what Aragog had said.

I was half asleep when what seemed like our very last hope occured to us, and Harry and I suddenly sat bolt upright.

"Ron," we hissed through the dark, "Ron -"

Ron woke with a yelp like Fang's, stared wildly around, and saw Harry and I.

"Ron - that girl who died. Aragog said she was found in a bathroom," Harry said, ignoring Neville's snuffling snores from the corner. "What if she never left the bathroom? What if she's still there?"

Ron rubbed his eyes, frowning through the moonlight. And then he understood, too.

"You _don't _think - not _Moaning Myrtle_?"


	16. The Chamber of Secrets

**Chapter Sixteen**

**The Chamber of Secrets**

"All those times we were in that bathroom, and she was just three toilets away," Ron said bitterly at breakfast the next day, "and we could've asked her, and now. . ."

It had been hard enough trying to look for spiders. Escaping our teachers long enough to sneak into a girls' bathroom, the girls' bathroom, moreover, right next to the scene of the first attack, was going to be almost impossible, espiecally for the boys.

But something happened in our first lesson, Transfiguration, that drove the Chamber of Secrets out of our minds for the first time in weeks. Ten minutes into class, Professor McGonagall told us that our exams would start on the first of June, one week from today.

_"Exams?"_ Seamus Finnigan howled. "We're still getting _exams_?"

There was a loud bang behind Harry and I as Neville Longbottom's wand slipped, vanishing one of the legs on his desk. Professor McGonagall restored it with a wave of her own wand, and turned, frowning, to Seamus.

"The whole point of keeping the school open at this time is for you to receive your education," she said sternly. "The exams will therefore take place as usual, and I trust you are all studying hard."

Studying hard! It hadn't occured even to me that there would be exams with the castle in this state. I hadn't even started studying. Normally I would have started weeks ago, already drawn up a study schedule, written up study guides. _Both _Hermione and I would have already done this, but I'd been running around with the boys trying to find out what was in the Chamber of Secrets I hadn't even done anything to prepare. I was vaguely aware of the mutinous muttering around the room, only coming back to my senses when I saw Professor McGonagall's scowl darken farther.

"Professor Dumbledore's instructions were to keep the school running as normally as possible," she said. "And that, I need hardly point out, means finding out how much you have learned this year."

I chewed my lip, glancing quickly down at the white pair of slippers I'd just made out of a pair of rabbits that had been previously sitting on my desk. I ran through the things I'd learned, trying to make sure I remembered everything, from start to finish. I could think of more than a dozen useful things that could help me in the exams, but I knew there were more and not being able to remember them frustrated me to no end.

Ron looked as though he'd just been told he had to go and live in the Forbidden Forest.

"Can you imagine me taking exams with this?" he asked Harry and I, holding up his wand, which had just started whistling loudly.

Three days before our first exam, Professor McGonagall made another announcement at breakfast.

"I have good news," she said, and the Great Hall, instead of falling silent, erupted.

"Dumbledore's coming back!" several people yelled joyfully.

"You've caught the Heir of Slytherin!" squeaked a girl at the Ravenclaw table.

"Quidditch matches are back on!" Wood roared excitedly.

When the hubbub had subsided, Professor McGonagall said, "Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are ready for cutting at last. Tonight, we will be able to revive those people who have been Petrified. I need hardly remind you all that one of them may well be able to tell us who, or what, attacked them. I am hopeful that this dreadful year will end with our catching the culprit."

There was an explosion of cheering. I squealed and hugged Harry, who hugged back, chuckling. We both looked over at the Slytherin table and weren't at all surprised to see that Draco Malfoy hadn't joined in. Ron, however, was looking happier than he'd looked in days.

"It won't matter that we never asked Myrtle, then!" he said to Harry and I. "Hermione'll probably have all the answers when they wake her up! Mind you, she'll go crazy when she finds out we've got exams in three days' time. She hasn't studied. It might be kinder to leave her where she is till they're over."

Just then, Ginny Weasley came over and sat down next to Ron. She looked tense and nervous, and Harry pointed out that her hands were twisting in her lap.

"What's up?" Ron said, helping himself to more porridge.

Ginny didn't say anything, but glanced up and down the Gryffindor table with a scared look on her face that reminded Harry and I of someone, thought we couldn't think who.

"Spit it out," Ron said, watching her.

I suddenly realized who Ginny looked like and pointed it out quietly to Harry. She was rocking backward and forward slightly in her chair, exactly like Dobby did when he was teetering on the edge of revealing forbidden information.

"I've got to tell you something," Ginny mumbled, carefully not looking at either Harry or I.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

Ginny looked as thought she couldn't find the right words.

_"What?" _Ron asked.

Ginny opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Harry leaned forward and spoke quietly, so that only Ginny, Ron and I could hear him.

"Is it something about the Chamber of Secrets? Have you seen something? Someone acting oddly?"

Ginny drew a deep breath and, at that precise moment, Percy Weasley appeared, looking tired and worn out.

"If you've finished eating, I'll take that seat, Ginny. I'm starving, I've only just come off patrol duty."

Ginny jumped up as though her chair had just been electrified, gave Percy a fleeting, frightened look, and scampered away. Percy sat down and grabbed a mug from the center of the table.

"Percy!" Ron said angrily. "She was just about to tell us something important!"

Halfway through a gulp of tea, Percy choked.

"What sort of thing?" he asked, coughing.

"I just asked her if she'd seen anything odd, and she started to say -"

"Oh - that - that's nothing to do with the Chamber of Secrets," Percy said at once.

"How do you know?" Ron said, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, er, if you must know, Ginny, er, walked in on me the other day when I was - well, never mind - the point is, she spotted me doing something and I, um, I asked her not to mention it to anybody. I must say, I did think she'd keep her word. It's nothing, really, I'd just rather -"

Neither Harry nor I had ever seen Percy look so uncomfortable.

"What were you doing, Percy?" Ron asked, grinning. "Go on, tell us, we won't laugh."

Percy didn't smile back.

"Pass me those rolls, Harry, I'm starving."

Both Harry and I knew the whole mystery might be solved tomorrow without our help, but neither of us were about to pass up a chance to speak to Myrtle if it turned up - and to our delight it did, midmorning, when we were being led to History of Magic by Gilderoy Lockhart.

Lockhart, who had so often assured us that all danger had passed, only to be proved wrong right away, was now wholeheartedly convinced that it was hardly worth the trouble to see us safely down the corridors. His hair wasn't as sleek as usual; it seemed he had been up most of the night, patrolling the fourth floor.

"Mark my words," he said, ushering us around a corner. "The first words out of those poor Petrified people's mouths will be _'It was Hagrid!' _. Frankly, I'm astounded Professor McGonagall thinks all these security measures are necessary."

Harry and I glanced quickly at each other, "We agree, sir," We said together, making Ron drop his books in surprise.

"Thank you, Harry, Cheyenne," Lockhart said graciously while we waited for a long line of Hufflepuffs to pass. "I mean, we teachers have quite enough to be getting on with, without walking students to classes and standing guard all night. . . ."

"That's right," Ron said, catching on. "Why don't you leave us here, sir, we've only got one more corridor to go -"

"You know, Weasley, I think I will," Lockhart said. "I really should go and prepare my next class -"

And he hurried off.

"Prepare his class," Ron sneered after him. "Gone to curl his hair, more like."

We let the rest of the Gryffindors draw ahead of us, then darted down a side passage and hurried off toward Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. But just as we were congradulating each other on our brilliant scheme -

"Potter! Power! Weasley! What are you doing?"

It was Professor McGonagall, and her mouth was the thinnest of thin lines.

"We were - we were -" Ron stammered. "We were going to - to go and see -"

"Hermione," Harry said. Ron and Professor McGonagall both looked at him.

"We haven't seen her for ages, Professor," I went on hurriedly as Harry treaded on Ron's foot, "and we thought we'd sneak into the hospital wing, you know, and tell her the Mandrakes are nearly ready and, er, not to worry -"

Professor McGonagall was still staring at us, and for a moment, Harry and I thought she was going to explode, but when she spoke, it was in a strangely croaky voice.

"Of course," she said, and I was amazed to see a tear glistening in her beady eye. "Of course, I realize this has all been hardest on the friends of those who have been. . .I quite understand. Yes, Potter, Power, of course you may visit Miss Granger. I will inform Professor Binns where you've three gone. Tell Madam Pomfrey I have given my permission."

Harry, Ron and I walked away, hardly daring to believe that we'd avoided detention. As we turned the corner, we distinctly heard Professor McGonagall blow her nose.

"That," Ron said fervently, "was the best story you've both ever come up with."

We had no choice now but to go to the hospital wing and tell Madam Pomfrey that we had Professor McGonagall's permission to visit Hermione.

Madam Pomfrey let us in, but reluctantly.

"There's just no _point _talking to a Petrified person," she said, and we had to admit she had a point when we'd taken our seats next to Hermione. It was plain that Hermione didn't have the faintest inkling that she had visitors, and that we might just as well tell her bedside cabinet not to worry for all the good it would do.

"Wonder if she did see the attacker, though?" Ron said, looking sadly at Hermione's rigid face. "Because if he sneaked up on them all, no one'll ever know. . . ."

But Harry wasn't looking at Hermione's face. I could see he was more interested in her right hand. I looked quickly down at it too. It lay clenched on top of her blankets, and, both of us bending closer, we saw that a piece of paper was scrunched inside her fist.

Making sure that Madam Pomfrey was nowhere near, we pointed this out to Ron.

"Try and get it out," Ron whispered, shifting his chair so that he blocked Harry and I from Madam Pomfrey's view.

It was no easy task. Hermione's hand was clamped so tightly around the paper that Harry and I were sure one of us was going to tear it. While Ron kept watch we tugged and twisted, and at last, after several tense minutes, the paper came free.

It was a page torn from a very old library book. Harry smoothed it out eagerly and Ron leaned closer to read it, too.

_Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land,_

_there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are more wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it._

And beneath this, a single word had been written, in a hand Harry and I recognized as Hermione's. _Pipes._

It was as though somebody had just flicked a light on in our brains.

"Ron," we breathed. "This is it. This is the answer. The monster in the Chamber's a _basilisk_ - a giant serpent! _That's _why we've been hearing that voice all over the place, and nobody else has heard it. It's because we understand Parseltongue. . . ."

Harry and I looked up at the beds around us.

"The basilisk kills people by looking at them. But no one's died - because no one looked it straight in the eye. . . ." Harry said quickly.

"Colin say it through his camera. The basilisk burned up all the film inside it, but Colin just got Petrified." I interjected, making Harry nod.

"Justin. . .Justin must've seen the basilisk through Nearly Headless Nick! Nick got the fill blast of it, but he couldn't die _again_. . . ." Harry paused and I gasped.

"When I came back, I saw Hermione and that Ravenclaw prefect with the mirror! Hermione must have just realized the monster was a basilisk. I bet you anything she warned the first person she met to look around corners with a mirror first! And that girl pulled out her mirror - and -"

Ron's jaw had dropped.

"And Mrs. Norris?" he whispered urgently.

Harry and I looked at each other, gazing, hard, into the other's eyes, picturing the scene onn the night of Halloween.

"The water. . ." I remembered and Harry's eyes widened as he remembered too. "The floor from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom." "Mrs. Norris must have only saw the reflection. . ." He finished.

We scanned the page in his hand eagerly. The more we looked at it, the more it made sense.

_". . .The crowing of the rooster. . .is fatal to it!" _he read aloud. "Hagrid's roosters were killed! The Heir of Slytherin didn't want one anywhere near the castle once the Chamber was opened! _Spiders flee before it! _It all fits!"

"But how's the basilisk been getting around the place?" Ron asked. "A giant snake. . .Someone would've seen. . ."

I, however, pointed at the word Hermione had scribbled at the foot of the page.

"Pipes," I said. "Pipes. . .Ron, it's been using the plumbing. Harry and I've been hearing that voice inside the walls. . . ."

Ron suddenly grabbed Harry's arm.

"The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets!" he said hoarsely. "What if it's a bathroom? What if it's in -"

" - _Moaning Myrtle's bathroom,_" Harry and I said together.

We sat there, excitement coursing through us, hardly able to believe it.

"This means," Harry said. "That Chey and I can't be the only Parselmouths in the school. The Heir of Slytherin's one, too. That's how he'd been controlling the basilisk."

"What're we going to do?" Ron asked, his eyes flashing. "Should we go straight to McGonagall?"

"Let's go to the staff room," I said, jumping to my feet. "She'll be there in ten minutes. It's nearly break."

We ran downstairs. Not wanting to be discovered hanging around in another corridor, we went straight into the deserted staff room. It was a large, paneled room full of dark, wooden chairs. I leaned against the table, watching Harry and Ron pacing about, both too excited to sit down.

But the bell to signal break never came.

Instead, echoing through the corridors came Professor McGonagall's voice, magicaly magnified.

_"All students to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately, please."_

Harry wheeled around to stare at Ron and I.

"Not another attack? Not now?"

"What'll we do?" Ron asked, aghast. "Go back to the dormitory?"

"No," Harry said quickly, glancing around. There was an ugly sort of wardrobe to our left, full of the teachers' cloaks. "In here. Let's hear what it's all about. Then we can tell them what we've found out."

Harry took my hand quickly and we hid ourselves inside it, listening to the rumbling of hundreds of people moving overhead, and the staff room door banging open. From between the musty folds of the cloaks, we watched the teachers filtering into the room. Some of them were looking puzzled, others downright scared. Then Professor McGonagall arrived.

"It has happened," she told the silent staff room. "A student has been taken by the monster. Right into the Chamber itself."

Professor Flitwick let out a squeal. Professor Sprout clapped her hands over her mouth. Snape gripped the back of a chair very hard and said, "How can you be sure?"

"The Heir of Slytherin," Professor McGonagall said, looking extremely white, "left another message. Right underneath the first one. _'Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.' _"

Professor Flitwick burst into tears.

"Who is it?" asked Madam Hooch, who had sunk, weak-kneed, into a chair. "Which student?"

"Ginny Weasley," Professor McGonagall said.

Harry and I felt Ron slide silently down onto the wardrobe floor beside us as I gasped quietly.

"We shall have to send all the students home tomorrow," Professor McGonagall said. "This is the end of Hogwarts. Dumbledore always said. . ."

The staffroom door banged open again. For one wild moment, Harry and I were sure it would be Dumbledore. But it was Lockhart, and he was beaming.

"So sorry - dozed off - what have I missed?"

He didn't seem to notice that the other teachers were looking at him with something remarkably like hatred. Snape stepped forward.

"Just the man," he said. "The very man. A girl has been snatched by the monster, Lockhart. Taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your moment has come at last."

Lockhart blanched.

"That's right, Gilderoy," Professor Sprout chipped in. "Weren't you saying just last night that you've known all along where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is?"

"I - well, I -" Lockhart sputtered.

"Yes, didn't you tell me you were sure you knew what was inside it?" Professor Flitwick piped up.

"D-did I? I don't recall -"

"I certainly remember you saying you were sorry you hadn't had a crack at the monster before Hagrid was arrested," Snape said. "Didn't you say that the whole affair had been bungled, and that you should have been given a free rein from the first?"

Lockhart stared around at his stony-faced colleagues.

"I - I really never - you may have misunderstood -"

"We'll leave it to you, then, Gilderoy," Professor McGonagall said. "Tonight will be an excellent time to do it. We'll make sure everone's out of your way. You'll be able to tackle the monster all by yourself. A free rein at last."

Lockhart gazed desperately around him, but nobody came to the rescue. He didn't look remotely handsome anymore. His lip was trembling, and in the absence of his usually toothy grin, he looked weak-chinned and feeble.

"V-very well," he said. "I'll - I'll be in my office, getting - getting ready."

And he left the room.

"Right," Professor McGonagall said, nostrils flaring, "that's go _him _out from under our feet. The Heads of Houses should go and inform their students what had happened. Tell them the Hogwarts Express will take them home first thing tomorrow. Will the rest of you please make sure no students have been left outside their dormitorites."

The teachers rose and left, one by one.

It was probably the worst day of either my or Harry's entire lives. Harry, Ron, Fred, George and I sat together in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, unable to say anything to each other. Percy wasn't there. He had gone to send an owl to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, then shut himself up in his dormitory. I was curled up between Harry and Fred, my face buried in my knees, quietly sobbing, Fred rubbing my back, but looked as though he had no idea he was even doing it.

No afternoon ever last as long as that one, nor had Gryffindor Tower ever been so crowded, yet so quiet. Near sunset, Fred and George went up to bed, unable to sit there any longer. Fred kissed the top of my head absentmindedly and I had little energy to stop him from leaving.

"She knew something, Harry, Chey. . ." Ron said, speaking for the first time since we had entered the wardrobe in the staff room. "That's why she was taken. It wasn't some stupid thing about Percy at all. She'd found out something about the Chamber of Secrets. That must be why she was -" Ron rubbed his eyes frantically. "I mean, she was a pure-blood. There can't be any other reason."

Harry and I could see the sun sinking, blood-red, below the skyline. This was the worst either of us had ever felt. If only there was something we could do. Anything.

"Harry. . .Chey. . ." Ron said. "Do either of you think there's any chance at all she's not - you know -"

Neither of us knew what to say. We couldn't see how Ginny could still be alive.

"D'you know what?" Ron said. "I think we should go and see Lockhart. Tell him what we know. He's going to try and get into the Chamber. We can tell him where we think it is, and tell him it's a bailisk in there."

Because neither Harry nor I could think of anything else to do, and because we wanted to be doing something, we agreed. The Gryffindors around us were so miserable, and felt so sorry for the Weasleys, that nobody tried to stop us as we got up, crossed the room, and left through the portrait hole.

Darkness was falling as we walked down to Lockhart's office. There seemed ot be a lot of activity going on inside it. We could hear scraping, thumps, and hurried footsteps.

Harry knocked and there was a sudden silence from inside. Then the door opened the tiniest crack and we saw one of Lockhart's eyes peering through it.

"Oh - Mr. Potter - Mr. Weasley - Miss Power -" he said, opening the door a bit wider. "I'm rather busy at the moment - if you would be quick -"

"Professor, we've got some information for you," I said. "We think it'll help you."

"Er - well - it's not terribly -" The side of Lockhart's face that we could see looked very uncomfortable. "I mean - well - all right -"

He opened the door and we entered.

His office had been almost completely stripped. Two large trunks stood open on the floor. Robes, jade-green, lilac, midnight-blue, had been hastily folded into one of them; books were jumbled untidily into the other. The photographs that had covered the walls were now crammed into boxes on the desk.

"Are you going somewhere?" Harry and I asked.

"Er, well, yes," Lockhart said, ripping a life-size poster of himself from the back of the door as he spoke and starting to roll it up. "Urgent call - unavoidable - got to go -"

"What about my sister?" Ron said jerkily.

"Well, as to that - most unfortunate -" Lockhart said, avoiding our eyes as he wrenched open a drawer and started emptying the contents into a bag. "No one regrets more than I -"

"You're the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!" Harry said. "You can't go now! Not with all the Dark stuff going on here!"

"Well - I must say - when I took the job -" Lockhart muttered, now piling socks on top of his robes. "nothing in the job description - didn't expect -"

"You mean you're _running away_?" I exploded, hardly believing it. "After all that stuff you did in your books -"

"Books can be misleading," Lockhart said delicately.

"You wrote them!" Harry shouted.

"My dear children," Lockhart said, straightening up and frowning at Harry and I. "Do use your common sense. My books wouldn't have sold half as well if people didn't think _I'd _done all those things. No one wants to read about some ugly old Armenian warlock, even if he did save a village from werewolves. He'd look dreadful on the front cover. No dress sense at all. And the witch who banished the Bandon Banshee had a harelip. I mean, come on -"

"So you've just been taking credit for what a load of other people have done?" Harry and I said incredulously.

"Harry, Cheyenne," Lockhart said, shaking his head impatiently, "it's not nearly as simple as that. There was work involved. I had to track these people down. Ask them exactly how they managed to do what they did. Then I had to put a Memory Charm on them so they wouldn't remember doing it. If there's one thing I pride myself on, it's my Memory Charm. No, it's been a lot of work, Harry, Cheyenne. It's not all book signings and publicity photos, you know. You want fame, you have to be prepared for a long hard slog."

He banged the lids of his trunks shut and locked them.

"Let's see," he said. "I think that's everything. Yes. Only one thing left."

He pulled out his wand and turned to us.

"Awfully sorry, you three, but I'll have to put a Memory Charm on you now. Can't have any of you blabbing my secrets all over the place. I'd never sell another book -"

Harry pushed me behind him and reached for his wand, just in time too. Lockhart had barely raised his, when Harry bellowed, _"Expelliarmus!"_

Lockhart was blasted backward, falling over his trunk; his wand flew high into the air; Ron caught it, and flung it out of the open window.

"Shouldn't have let Professor Snape teach us that one," Harry said furiously, kicking Lockhart's trunk aside. Lockhart was looking up at him, feeble once more. Harry was still pointing his wand at him.

"What d'you want me to do?" Lockhart asked weakly. "I don't know where the Chamber of Secrets is. There's nothing I can do."

"You're in luck," I growled as Harry forced Lockhart to his feet at wandpoint. "We think _we _know where it is. _And _what's inside it. Let's go."

We marched Lockhart out of his office and down the nearest stairs, along the dark corridor where the messages shone on the wall, to the door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

We sent Lockhart in first. Harry and I were pleased to see that he was shaking.

Moaning Myrtle was sitting on the tank of the end toilet.

"Oh, it's you," she said when she saw the two of us. "What do you two want this time?"

"To ask you how you died," Harry and I said carefully.

Myrtle's whole aspect changed at once. She looked as though she had never been asked such a flattering question.

"Ooooh, it was dreadful," she said with relish. "It happened right in here. I died in this very stall. I remember it so well. I'd hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny. A different language. I think it must have been. Anyway, what really got me was that it was a _boy_ speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then -" Myrtle swelled importantly, her face shining. "I _died_."

"How?" Harry asked.

"No idea," Myrtle said in hushed tones. "I just remember seeing a pair of great, big, yellow eyes. My whole body sort of seized up, and then I was floating away. . . ." She looked dreamily at Harry. "And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she'd ever laughed at my glasses."

"Where exactly did you see the eyes?" I asked this time.

"Somewhere there," Myrtle replied, pointing vaguely toward the sink in front of her toilet.

Harry, Ron and I hurried over to it. Lockhart was standing well back, a look of utter terror on his face.

It looked like an ordinary sink. We examined every inch of it, inside and out, including the pipes below. And then Harry and I both saw it at the same time: Scratched on the side of one of the copper taps was a tiny snake.

"That tap's never worked," Myrtle said brightly as we tried to turn it.

"Harry, Chey," Ron said. "Say something. Something in Parseltongue."

"But -" Harry and I looked at each other, thinking hard. The only times we'd ever managed to speak Parseltongue were when we'd been faced with a real snake. We stared hard at the tiny engraving, trying to imagine it was real.

"Open up," we said.

We looked at Ron, who shook his head.

"English," he said.

Harry and I looked back at the snake, willing ourselves to believe it was alive. I took his hand and he gave a reassuring squeeze. If we moved our heads, the candlelight made it look as though it were moving.

"Open up," we said.

Except that the words weren't what we heard; a strange hissing had escaped us, and at once the tap glowed with a brilliant white light and began to spin. Next second, the sink began to move; the sink, in fact, sank, right out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed, a pipe wide enough for a man to slide into.

Harry and I heard Ron gasp and looked up again, glancing at each other. We had made up our minds what we were going to do.

"We're going down there," we said.

We couldn't not go, not now we had found the entrance to the Chamber, not if there was even the faintest, slimmest, wildest chance that Ginny might be alive.

"Me too," Ron said.

There was a pause.

"Well, you hardly seem to need me," Lockhart said, with a shadow of his old smile. "I'll just -"

He put his hand on the door knob, but Ron and Harry both pointed their wands at him.

"You can go first," Ron snarled.

White-faced and wandless, Lockhart approached the opening.

"Boys," he said to Harry and Ron, his voice feeble. "Boys, what good will it do? Cheyenne, please, help me out here." he pleaded and I frowned at him, crossing my arms and fixing him with a cold, emotionless stare.

Harry jabbed him in the back with his wand. Lockhart slid his legs into the pipe.

"I really don't think -" he started to say, but Ron gave him a push, and he slid out of sight. Harry and I followed quickly. First, he lowered himself slowly into the pipe and let go and I followed immediately after.

It was like rushing down an endless, slimy, dark slide. I could see more pipes branching off in all directions, but none as large as ours, which twisted and turned, sloping steeply downward, and I knew that I was falling deeper below the school than even the dungeons. Behind me I could hear Ron, thudding slightly at the curves.

And then, just as I had begun to worry about what would happen when I hit the ground, the pipe leveled out, and I shot out of the end with a wet thud, landing on something warm and slightly wet as we fell backward onto the damp floor of a dark stone tunnel large enough to stand in. Lockhart was getting to his feet a little ways away, covered in slime and white as a ghost. I suddenly realized I'd just landed on Harry and was scrambling to get off him when he got us both up and moved me out of the way as Ron came whizzing out of the pipe, too.

"We must be miles under the school," Harry said, moving his hands from my shoulders, his voice echoing in the black tunnel.

"Under the lake, probably," Ron said and I could just make him out squinting around at the dark, slimy walls.

All four of us turned to stare into the darkness ahead.

_"Lumos!" _Harry muttered to his wand and it lit again. "C'mon," he said to Ron and Lockhart as he took my hand, and off we went, our footsteps slapping loudly on the wet floor.

The tunnel was so dark that we could only see a little distance ahead. Our shadows on the wet walls looked monstrous in the wandlight.

"Remember," Harry said quietly as we walked cautiously forward, "any sign of movement, close your eyes right away. . . ."

But the tunnel was quiet as the grave, and the first unexpected sound we heard was a loud _crunch_ as Ron stepped on what turned out to be a rat's skull. Harry lowered his wand to look at the floor and we saw that it was littered with small animal bones. Both of us trying very hard not to imagine what Ginny might look like if we found her, Harry and I led the way forward, around a dark bend in the tunnel.

"Harry, Chey - there's something up there -" Ron said hoarsely, grabbing Harry's shoulder.

We froze, watching. Harry and I could just see the outline of something huge and curved, lying right across the tunnel. It wasn't moving.

"Maybe it's asleep," we breathed, glancing back at the other two. Lockhart's hands were pressed over his eyes. Harry and I turned back to look at the thing, our hearts beating so fast it hurt.

Very slowly, our eyes as narrow as we could make them and still see, Harry and I edged forward, his wand held high.

The light slid over a gigantic snake skin, of a vivid, poisonous green, lying curled and empty across the tunnel floor. The creature that had shed it must have been twenty feet long at least.

"Blimey," Ron said weakly.

There was a sudden movement behind us. Gilderoy Lockhart's knees had given way.

"Get up," Ron said sharply, pointing his wand at Lockhart.

Lockhart got to his feet - then he dived at Ron, knocking him to the ground.

Harry pushed me back again and jumped forward, but too late - Lockhart was straightening up, panting, Ron's wand in his hand and a gleaming smile back on his face.

"The adventure ends here, you three!" he said. "I shall take a bit of this skin back up to the school, tell them I was too late to save the girl, and that you three _tragically _lost your minds at the sight of her mangled body - say good-bye to your memories!"

He raised Ron's Spellotaped wand high over his head and yelled, _"Obliviate!"_

The wand exploded with the force of a small bomb. I grabbed Harry's hand and we ran, slipping over the coils of snake skin, out of the way of great chunks of tunnel ceiling that were thundering to the floor. Next moment, we were standing alone, gazing at a solid wall of broken rock.

"Ron!" we shouted. "Are you okay? Ron!"

"I'm here!" Ron's muffled voice came from behind the rockfall. "I'm okay - this git's not, though - he got blasted by the wand -"

There was a dull thud and a loud "ow!" It sounded as though Ron had just kicked Lockhart in the shins.

"What now?" Ron's voice said, sounding desperate. "We can't get through - it'll take ages. . . ."

Harry and I looked up at the tunnel ceiling. Huge cracks had appeared in it. We had never tried to break apart anything as large as these rocks by magic, and now didn't seem a good moment to try - what if the whole tunnel caved in?

There was another thud and another "ow!" from behind the rocks. We were wasting time. Ginny had already been in the Chamber of Secrets for hours. . . .Harry and I knew there was only one thing to do.

"Wait there," we called to Ron. "Wait with Lockhart. We'll go on. . . .If we're not back in an hour. . ."

There was a very pregnant pause.

"I'll try and shift some of this rock," said Ron, who seemed to be trying to keep his voice steady. "So you can - can get back through. And, Harry, Chey -"

"See you in a bit," Harry said, trying to inject some confidence into his shaking voice. "We'll come back Ron, we promise." I called, my voice breaking at the end of my sentence.

And we set off alone past the giant snake skin.

Soon the distant noise of Ron straining to shift the rocks was gone. The tunnel turned and turned again. Every nerve in my body was tingling unpleasantly. I wanted the tunnel to end, yet dreaded what we'd find when it did. And then, at last, as we crept around yet another bend, we saw a solid wall ahead on which two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with great, glinting emeralds.

Harry and I approached, my throat dry. There was no need to pretend these stone snakes were real; their eyes looked strangely alive.

We could guess what we had to do. Clearing our throats together, Harry and I squeezed each other's hands, and the emerald eyes seemed to flicker.

_"Open,"_ We said, in low, faint hisses.

The serpents parted as the wall cracked open, the halves slid smoothly out of sight, and Harry and I, both of us shaking from head to foot, walked inside.


	17. The Heir of Slytherin

**Chapter Seventeen**

**The Heir of Slytherin**

He was standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place.

Heart racing, I stood next to Harry, listening to the chill silence. Could the basilisk be lurking in a shadowy corner, behind a pillar? And where was Ginny?

We pulled out our wands and moved forward between the sepentine columns. Every careful footstep echoed loudly off the shadowy walls. We kept our eyes narrowed, ready to clamp them shut at the smallest sign of movement. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following us. More than once, with a jolt of the stomach, we thought we saw one stir.

Then, as we drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall.

Harry and I had to crane our necks to look up into the giant face above: It was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. And between the feet, facedown, lay a small, black-robed figure with flaming-red hair.

_"Ginny!"_ Harry and I muttered, sprinting to her and dropping to our knees on either side of her. "Ginny - don't be dead - please don't be dead -" We threw our wands aside, each of us grabbing one of Ginny shoulders, and turned her over. Her face was white as marble, and as cold, yet her eyes were closed, so she wasn't Petrified. But then she must be -

"Ginny, please wake up," Harry muttered desperately, shaking her. Ginny's head lolled hopelessly from side to side.

"She won't wake," said a soft voice.

Harry and I jumped and spun around on our knees.

A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though Harry and I were looking at him through a misted window. But there was no mistaking him -

"Tom - _Tom Riddle_?"

Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off my or Harry's faces.

"What d'you mean, she won't wake?" Harry asked desperately. "She's not - she's not -?"

"She's still alive," Riddle said. "But only just."

Harry and I stared at him. Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts fifty years ago, yet here he stood, a weird, misty light shining about him, not a day older than sixteen.

"Are you a ghost?" I asked uncertainly.

"A memory," Riddle said quietly. "Preserved in a diary for fifty years."

He pointed toward the floor near the statue's giant toes. Lying open there was the little black diary Harry had found in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. For a second, Harry and I glanced at each other, wondering how it had got there - but there were more pressing matters to deal with.

"You've got to help us, Tom," Harry said as I held Ginny's head up. "We've got to get her out of here. There's a basilisk. . .we don't know where it is, but it could be along any moment. . . .Please, help us -"

Riddle didn't move. Harry and I, both of us sweating, managed to hoist Ginny half off the floor together, and he bent to pick up our wands again.

But our wands were gone.

"Did you see -?"

The color drained from my face as he looked up. Riddle was still watching us - twirling Harry's wand between his long fingers, mine clutched in his other hand.

"Thanks," Harry said, stretching out his hand for them.

A smile curled the corners of Riddle's mouth and I felt a chill run the length of my spine. He continued to stare at the two of us, twirling the wand idly.

"Listen," Harry said urgently, both of us starting to sag with Ginny's dead weight. _"We've got to go! _If the bailisk comes -"

"It won't come until it is called," Riddle said calmly.

Harry and I lowered Ginny back onto the floor, unable to hold her up any longer. I sank to my knees and cradled Ginny's head in my lap.

"What d'you mean?" Harry asked. "Look, give me our wands, Chey and I might need them -"

Riddle's smile broadened.

"Neither of you will be needing them," he said.

Harry stared and I shivered, "Harry. . . ." I whispered.

"What d'you mean, we won't be -?"

"I've waited a long time for this, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power," Riddle said. "For the chance to see you both. To speak to you."

"Look," Harry said, his tone impatient. "I don't think you get it. We're in the _Chamber of Secrets_. We can talk later -"

"We're going to talk now," Riddle said, still smiling broadly, and he pocketed both our wands.

Harry and I stared at him. I'd already started to notice something fishy going on and that suspicion only continued to grow.

"How did Ginny get like this?" we asked slowly.

"Well, that's an interesting question," Riddle said pleasantly. "And quite a long story. I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley's like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger."

"What are you talking about?" Harry and I asked.

"The diary," Riddle said. "_My_ diary. Little Ginny's been writing in it for months and months, telling me all her pitiful worried and woes - how her brothers _tease _her, how she had to come to school with secondhand robes and books, how" - Riddle's eyes glinted - "how she didn't think famous, good, great Harry Potter would _ever_ like her. . . .How she thought kind, great Cheyenne Power wouldn't _ever_ be friends with her. . . ."

All the time he spoke, Riddle's eyes never left either my or Harry's faces. There was an almost hungry look in them.

"It's very _boring_, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven-year-old girl," he went on. "But I was patient. I wrote back. I was sumpathetic, I was kind. Ginny simply _loved_ me. _No one's ever understood me like you, Tom. . . .I'm so glad I've got this diary to confide in. . . .It's like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket. . . ."_

Riddle laughed, a high, cold laugh that didn't suit him. It made the hairs stand up on the back of my and Harry's necks.

"If I say it myself, Harry, Cheyenne, I've always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured our her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted. . . .I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of _my_ secrets, to start pouring a little of _my _soul back into _her_. . ."

"What d'you mean?" Harry and I asked, both our mouths having gone very dry.

"Haven't either of you guessed yet, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power?" Riddle said softly. "Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. She strangled the school roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls. She set the Serpent of Slytherin on four Mudbloods, and the Squib's cat."

"No," Harry and I whispered.

"Yes," Riddle said, calmly. "Of course, she didn't _know_ what she was doing at first. It was very amusing. I wish you could have seen her new diary entries. . .far more interesting, they became. . . ._Dear Tom_," he recited, watching our horrified faces, _"I think I'm losing my memory. There are rooster feathers all over my robes and I don't know how they got there. Dear Tom, I can't remember what I did on the night of Halloween, but a cat was attacked and I've got paint all down my front. Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I'm pale and I'm not myself. I think he suspects me. . . .There was another attack today and I don't know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? I think I'm going mad. . . .I think I'm the one attacking everyone, Tom!"_

I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists tightly, my palms burning painfully as my nails dug in.

"It took a very long time for stupid little Ginny to stop trusting her diary," Riddle said. "But she finally became suspicious and tried to dispose of it. And that's were _you _two came in, Harry and Cheyenne. You two found it, and I couldn't have been more delighted. Of all the people who could have picked it up, it was _you_, the very people I was most anxious to meet. . . ."

"And why did you want to meet us?" Harry and I asked. Anger swept through me, and it was an effort to keep my voice steady, just like it was for Harry.

"Well, you see, Ginny told me all about you both, Harry and Cheyenne," Riddle said. "Your whole _fascinating _history together." His eyes roved over the lightning scars on both our foreheads, and their expression grew hungrier. "I knew I must find out more about you both, talk to you, meet you if I could. So I decided to show you two my famous capture of that great oaf, Hagrid, to gain your trust -"

"Hagrid's our friend," Harry and I growled, our voices shaking. "And you framed him, didn't you? We thought you made a mistake, but -"

Riddle laughed his high laugh again.

"It was my word against Hagrid's, Harry and Cheyenne. Well, you can imagine how it looked to old Armando Dippet. On the one hand, Tom Riddle, poor but brilliant, parentless but so _brave_, school prefect, model student. . .on the other hand, big, blundering Hagrid, in trouble every other week, trying to raise werewolf cubs under his bed, sneaking off to the Forbidden Forest to wrestle trolls. . .but I admit, even _I_ was surprised how well the plan worked. I thought _someone _must realize that Hagrid couldn't possibly be the Heir of Slytherin. It had taken _me _five whole years to find out everything I could about the Chamber of Secrets and discover the secret entrance. . .as though Hagrid had the brains, or the power!

"Only the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, seemed to think Hagrid was innocent. He persuaded Dippet to keep Hagrid and train him as gamekeeper. Yes, I think Dumbledore might have guessed. . . .Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did. . . ."

"We bet Dumbledore saw right through you," Harry said, his teeth gritted as I narrowed my eyes on Riddle.

"Well, he certainly kept an annoyingly close watch on me after Hagrid was expelled," Riddle said carelessly. "I knew it wouldn't be safe to open the Chamber again while I was still in school. But I wasn't going to waste those long years I'd spent searching for it. I decided to leave behind a diary, preserving my sixteen-year-old self in its pages, so that one day, with luck, I would be able to lead another in my footsteps, and finish Salazar Slytherin's noble work."

"Yeah, finish his work by minipulating an innocent young girl who was just insecure because she was in a new place and was trying to find her footing in this world! That's not noble, that's sick!" I snapped, still holding Ginny's head in my lap, glaring up at the boy from my position on the floor. Harry nodded.

"Chey's right, it's just downright evil and you haven't finished it at all," Harry said triumphantly. "No one's died this time, not even the cat. In a few hours the Mandrake Draught will be ready and everyone who was Petrified will be all right again -"

"Haven't I already told either of you," Riddle said quietly, "that killing Mudbloods doesn't matter to me anymore? For many months now, my new target has been - both of _you_."

Harry and I stared at him.

"Imagine how angry I was when the next time my diary was opened, it was Ginny who was writing to me, not one of you. She saw Harry with the diary, you see, and panicked. What if one of you found out how to work it, and I repeated all her secrets to you? What if, even worse, I told you who'd been strangling roosters? So the foolish little brat waited until the boys' dormitory was deserted and stole it back. But I knew what I must do. It was clear to me that you both were on the trail of Slytherin's heir. From everything Ginny had told me about you both, I knew you would go to any lengths to solve the mystery - particularly if one of your best friends was attacked. And Ginny had told me the whole school was buzzing because you both could speak Parseltongue. . . .

"So I made Ginny write her own farewell on the wall and come down here to wait. She struggled and cried and became _very _boring. But there isn't much life left in her. . . .She put too much into the diary, into me. Enough to let me leave its pages at last. . . .I have been waiting for you both to appear since we arrived here. I knew you'd come. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power."

"Like what?" Harry and I spat, both our fists clenched.

"Well," Riddle said, smiling pleasantly, "how is it that _you two_ - a skinny boy and girl, neither with any extraordinary magical talent - managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did _you _escape with nothing but a scar each, while Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?"

There was an odd red gleam in his hungry eyes now.

"Why do you care how we escaped?" Harry asked slowly. "Voldemort was after your time. . . ."

"Voldemort," Riddle said softly, "is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power. . . ."

He pulled Harry's wand from his pocket and began to trace it through the air, writing three shimmering words:

**TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE**

Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name rearranged themselves:

**I AM LORD VOLDEMORT**

"You see?" he whispered. "It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends only, of course. You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father's name forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother's side? I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch? No, Harry, Cheyenne - I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!"

My brain rolled, backtracking and trying to take in the new information. Harry and I stared numbly at Riddle, at the orphaned boy who had grown up to murder my and Harry's own parents, and so many others. . . .At last we forced ourselves to speak.

"You're not," we said, our quiet voices full of hatred.

"Now what?" Riddle snapped.

"Not the greatest sorcerer in the world," Harry and I said, both of us breathing fast. "Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you didn't dare try and take over at Hogwarts. Dumbledore saw through you when you were at school and he still frightens you now, wherever you're hiding these days -"

The smile had gone from Riddle's face, to be replaced by a very ugly look.

"Dumbledore's been driven out of this castle by the mere _memory _of me!" he hissed.

"He's not as gone as you might think!" Harry retorted. I could tell he was speaking at random, wanting to scare Riddle. I wished rather than believed it to be true -

Riddle opened his mouth, but froze.

Music was coming from somewhere. Riddle whirled around to stare down the empty Chamber. The music was growing louder. It was eerie, spine-tingling, unearthy; it lifted the hair on my scalp and made my heart feel as though it was swelling to twice its normal size. Then, as the music reached such a pitch that I felt it vibrating inside my own ribs, flames erupted at the top of the nearest pillar.

A crimson bird the size of a swan had appeared, piping its weird music to the vaulted ceiling. It had a glittering golden tail as long as a peacock's and gleaming golden talons, which were gripping a ragged bundle.

A second later, the bird was flying straight at Harry. It dropped the ragged thing it was carrying between us, then landed heavily on his shoulder. As it folded its great wings, Harry and I looked up and saw it had a long, sharp golden beak and beady black eyes.

The bird stopped singing. It sat still next to Harry's cheek, gazing steadily at Riddle.

"That's a phoenix. . . ." Riddle said, staring shrewdly back at it.

_"Fawkes?"_ Harry and I breathed together, and I saw the bird's golden claws squeeze his shoulder gently.

"And _that _-" Riddle said, now eyeing the ragged thing that Fawkes had dropped, "that's the old school Sorting Hat -"

So it was. Patched, frayed, and dirty, the hat lay motionless at Harry's feet.

Riddle began to laugh again. He laughed so hard that the dark chamber rang with it, as though ten Riddles were laughing at once -

"This is what Dumbledore sends his defenders? A songbird and an old hat! Do you both feel brave, Harry Potter, Cheyenne Power? Do either of you feel safe now?"

Neither Harry or I answered. We might not see what use Fawkes or the Sorting Hat were, but we were no longer alone, and we waited for Riddle to stop laughing with our courage mounting.

"To business, Harry and Cheyenne," Riddle said, still smiling broadly. "Twice - in _your _past, in _my _future - we have met. And twice I failed to kill the two of you. _How did you both survive_? Tell me everything. The longer you talk," he added softly, "the longer you both stay alive."

Harry and I glanced at each other, thinking fast and weighing our chances. Riddle had our wands. We, Harry and Cheyenne, had Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, neither of which would be much good in a duel. It looked bad, all right. . .but the longer Riddle stood there, the more life was dwindling out of Ginny. . .and in the meantime, Harry and I noticed suddenly, Riddle's outline was becoming clearer, more solid. . . .If it had to be a fight between us and Riddle, better sooner than later.

"No one knows why you lost your powers when you attacked us," Harry said abruptly. "Neither Chey nor I know ourselves. But we know why you couldn't _kill _us. . ."

"Because our mothers died to save us. Our common _Muggle-born _mothers," I added in, shaking with suppressed rage. Harry nodded and we started speaking together, "They stopped you killing us. And we've seen the real you, we saw you last year. You're a wreak. You're barely alive. That's where all your power got you. You're in hiding. You're ugly, you're foul -"

Riddle's face contorted. Then he forced it into an awful smile.

"So. Your mothers died to save you two. Yes, that's a powerful countercharm. I can see now. . .there is nothing special about either of you, after all. I wondered, you see. There are strange likenesses between all three of us, after all. Even one of you must have noticed. All three of us are half-bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles. Probably the only three Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the great Slytherin himself. Harry, you and I even _look _something alike. . .but after all, it was merely a lucky chance that saved you both from me. That's all I wanted to know."

I slowly reached up, taking Harry's hand, trembling slightly and I could feel the tension in his fingers as we waited for Riddle to raise his wand. But Riddle's twisted smile was widening again

"Now, Harry, Cheyenne, I'm going to teach you both a little lesson. Let's match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against the famous duo Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power, and the best weapons Dumbledore can give them. . . ."

He case an amused eye over Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, then walked away. Harry squeezed my hand, fear spreading through us both as we watched Riddle stop between the high pillars and look up into the stone face of Slytherin, high above him in the half-darkness. Riddle opened his mouth wide and hissed - but both Harry and I understood what he was saying. . . .

_"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four."_

Harry wheeled around to look up at the statue, Fawkes swaying on his shoulder. I twisted my body around, using one hand to keep Ginny's head on my lap.

Slytherin's gigantic stone face was moving. Horrorstruck, Harry and I saw his mouth opening, wider and wider, to make a huge black hole.

And something was stirring inside the statue's mouth. Something was slithering up from its depths.

Gritting my teeth, I pushed Harry away from me with all my strength, "Go, Harry, I need to stay and watch Ginny. Go!" Harry looked ready to argue, but I shot him a glare to mean I didn't want to hear it. He gulped and reluctantly backed away until he hit the dark Chamber wall, and as he shut his eyes tight I saw Fawkes' wing sweep his cheek as he took flight. I ducked my head, wrapping my arms around Ginny and hugging her to me, burying my face in her shoulder.

Something huge hit the stone floor of the Chamber. I felt it shudder - I knew immediately what was happening, I could sense it, could almost see the giant serpent uncoiling itself from Slytherin's mouth. Then I heard Riddle's hissing voice:

_"Kill the boy first!"_

I could feel the basilisk moving past Ginny and I, and head for Harry; I could hear its heavy body slithering heavily across the dusty floor. I could hear the hurried and shuffled footsteps coming from the wall and knew Harry was trying to run blindly from the basilisk - Voldemort was laughing -

There was a dull thud and my heart skipped a beat, knowing Harry had probably tripped. The serpent was closing in.

There was suddenly a loud, explosive spitting sound right where I knew Harry had tripped, followed by a sound like a slap and then a loud smack like something hitting the wall. There was more mad hissing, something thrashing wildly off the pillars -

Without thinking, my eyes snapped all the way open and I sat up quickly, looking around to where the serpent was.

The enormous serpent, bright, poisonous green, thick as an oak trunk, had raised itself high in the air and its great blunt head was weaving drunkenly between the pillars. I could see Harry lying sprawled out on the floor by the wall, trembling, his eyes open just the slightest bit and then, I saw what had distracted the snake.

Fawkes was soaring around its head, and the basilisk was snapping furiously at him with fangs long and thin as sabers -

Fawkes dived. His long golden beak sank out of sight and a sudden shower of dark blood spattered the floor. The snake's tail thrashed, narrowly missing Harry, and before he could shut his eyes, it turned several times, looking at him, then flashing around to look at me - I looked straight into its face and saw that its eyes, both its great, bulbous yellow eyes, had been punctured by the phoenix; blood was streaming to the floor, and the snake was spitting in agony.

"NO!" I heard Riddle screaming. "LEAVE THE BIRD! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU! YOU CAN STILL SMELL HIM! KILL HIM!"

The blinded serpent swayed, confused, still deadly. Fawkes was circling its head, piping his eerie song, jabbing here and there at its scaly nose as the blood poured from its ruined eyes.

Something glinted from the Sorting Hat and I looked down at it, sensing something from within it and blinking. Gently lifting Ginny's head from my lap, I lay it back on the floor and seized the hat before getting up, ignoring the numb feeling in my legs. I ran toward them, knowing I needed to get the hat to Harry, but in order to do so I had to get the basilisk away from my best friend first.

_"OI! OVER THIS WAY, YOU STUPID SNAKE! COME AND GET ME!" _I hissed as loudly as I could, stomping on the floor and making as much noise as I could to draw the basilisk's attention my way. My voice _just _broke over the sound of Fawkes' song and the serpent whipped in my direction, hissing angrily and slithered my way, spitting and thrashing. I continued stomping, guiding him toward me and yelling often to get his temper up.

When the basilisk was just feet away, I turned and ran up the Chamber, bringing each foot down as hard as I could to make as much noise as possible. I was planning on leading him as far up the Chamber as I could, then double back around a pillar and get the hat to Harry. However, as I ran around the nearest pillar and bolted back in my best friend's direction, the basilisk's tail whipped around, catching me in the stomach and throwing me back against the wall. I coughed, blood dripping down my lips and, panting, looked up at the basilisk, which was looming over me, baring it's long fangs, ready to strike.

Fawkes appeared again, swooping and pecking at the serpent, making it thrash about once more. It's tail whipped across the floor again. I ducked and heard something sliding across the floor, away from us. Lifting my head, I saw Harry jam the hat onto his head and throw himself flat onto the floor as the basilisk's tail swung around once more. I ducked my head once more, just avoiding the snake's tail again.

Something clattered onto the floor nearby and I lifted my head once more to see what it was. Harry was pulling a gleaming silver sword from the Sorting Hat, it's handle glittering with rubies the size of eggs.

_"KILL THE GIRL NOW! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE GIRL IS BEHIND YOU! SNIFF - SMELL HER!"_

Harry got to his feet, ready. The basilisk's head fell, it's body coiling around, hitting pillars as it twisted to face me. I could see the vast, bloody eye sockets, see the mouth stretching wide, wide enough to swallow me whole, lined with fangs long as Harry's sword, thin, glittering, venomous -

It lunged blindly - I rolled out of the way. It lunged again, and I pushed myself off the floor, its forked tongue lashed my side and I hit the Chamber wall. There was a sudden bright glint of a sword and the sound of someone running -

The basilisk lunged again, and this time its aim was true - I closed my eyes, readying myself for the pain I knew was coming, waiting for the feel of fangs to enter my skin, but it never came.

However, I did feel warm blood fall onto me, drenching my clothes and falling into my hair, a few specks falling onto my cheeks. I opened my eyes, lifting my gaze to the figure standing over me, who I quickly realized was Harry.

He was holding the handle of the sword in both hands and had driven the hilt of the sword into the roof of the serpent's mouth. Blood drenched Harry's arms and one long, poisonous fang was sinking deeper and deeper into his arm, just above his elbow. The fang splintered as the basilisk keeled over sideways and fell, twitching, to the floor.

Harry stumbled backward and his legs gave way. I caught him, holding him up. Harry gripped the fang that was spreading poison through his body and wrenched it out of his arm. But I knew it was too late. I could see the pain flashing across his face. Even as he dropped the fang and we watched his blood soaking his robes, I could see his vision glazing over and swimming.

Tears stung my eyes, rolling warmly down my cheeks and disappeared among the blood soaking Harry's robes, "Just hang in there, Harry, please. We'll get you the antidote and you'll be just fine, ju-just. . .please. . . .hang in there just a while longer. . . ." I whispered, not wanting to lose him. He was the only true family I had left and I was afraid of being alone. I didn't think I could survive this world without my best friend by my side.

A flash of scarlet out of the corner of my eye made me look up as there was a soft clatter of claws beside us.

"Fawkes," Harry said thickly as we recognized the phoenix. "You were fantastic, Fawkes. . . ." I smiled weakly, "Yes, you were. Th-thank you, Fawkes. . . ." I whispered. The bird laid its beautiful head on the spot where the serpent's fang had pierced Harry.

We could hear echoing footsteps and then a dark shadow fell over us.

"You're dead, Harry Potter," Riddle said, standing over us. Dead. Even Dumbledore's bird know it. Do you see what he's doing, Potter? He's crying."

Blinking, I looked down at Fawkes, curious. Thick, pearly tears were trickling down the glossy feathers.

"I'm going to sit here and watch you die, Harry Potter. Take your time, I'm in no hurry. And don't worry, Power won't be too far behind you."

Harry leaned his head against my shoulder and I could see he was feeling drowsy.

"So ends the famous Harry Potter, and the legendary P-team," Riddle said and I could hear the smirk in his voice. "Alone in the Chamber of Secrets, forsaken by their friends, defeated at last by the Dark Lord they so unwisely challenged. You'll both be back with your dear Mudblood mothers soon, Harry and Cheyenne. . . .They brought you twelve years of borrowed time. . .But Lord Voldemort got you two in the end, as you both knew he must. . . ."

More tears escaped my eyes and I hugged Harry closer, burying my face in his untidy black hair. If we were dying, then I was glad I was to die with my best friend.

Suddenly, I felt Harry give a small shake of his head and I lifted mine curiously, wondering what he was doing. Fawkes was still resting his head on Harry's arm. A pearly patch of tears was shining all around the wound - except that there _was _no wound -

"Get away, bird," Riddle's voice said suddenly. "Get away from him - I sad, _get away_ -"

Harry and I raised our heads. Riddle was pointing Harry's wand at Fawkes; there was a bang like a gun, and Fawkes took flight again in a whirl of gold and scarlet.

"Phoenix tears. . ." Riddle said quietly, staring at Harry's arm. "Of course. . .healing powers. . .I forgot. . ."

He looked first into Harry's face, and then mine. "But it makes no difference. In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you two and me, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power. . .you and me. . . ."

He raised the wand -

Then, in a rush of wings, Fawkes had soared back overhead and something fell into Harry's lap - _the diary._

For a split second, me, Harry and Riddle, wand still raised, stared at it. Then, without thinking, without considering, as though we had meant to do it all along, Harry and I seized the basilisk fang on the floor next to us and plunged it straight into the heart of the book together.

There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted out of the diary in torrents, streaming over both our hands, flooding the floor. Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing and then -

He had gone. Both my and Harry's wands fell to the floor with a couple of clatters and there was silence. Silence except for the steady _drip drip _of ink still oozing from the diary. The basilisk venom had burned a sizzling hole right through it.

Shaking all over, Harry pulled himself up and helped me to my feet. My head spun, making me feel as though I'd just traveled miles by Floo powder. Slowly, we gathered together our wands and the Sorting Hat, and, with a huge tug, retrieved the glittering sword from the roof of the basilisk's mouth.

Then came a faint moan from the end of the Chamber. Ginny was stirring. As Harry and I hurried toward her, she sat up. Her bemused eyes traveled from the huge form of the dead basilisk, over Harry and myself, both in our blood-soaked robes, then to the diary in Harry's hand. She drew a great, shuddering gasp and tears began to pour down her face.

"Harry - Ch-Cheyenne - I tried to tell you both at b-breakfast, but I c-_couldn't_ say it in front of Percy - it was _me_, Harry, Cheyenne - but I - I s-swear I d-didn't mean to - R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over - and - _how_ did you two kill that - that thing? W-where's Riddle? The last thing I r-remember is him coming out of the diary -"

"It's all right," Harry said, holding up the diary, and showing Ginny the fang hole, "Riddle's finished. Look! Him _and _the basilisk. C'mon, Ginny, let's get out of here -"

"I'm going to be expelled!" Ginny wept as I helped her awkwardly to her feet and hugged her, rubbing her back soothingly. "I've looked forward to coming to Hogwarts ever since B-Bill came and n-now I'll have to leave and - _w-what'll Mum and Dad say?"_

Fawkes was waiting for us, hovering in the Chamber entrance. Harry and I urged Ginny forward; we stepped over the motionless coils of the dead basilisk, through the echoing gloom, and back into the tunnel. Harry and I heard the stone doors close behind us with a soft hiss.

After a few minutes' progress up the dark tunnel, a distant sound of slowly shifting rock reached our ears.

"Ron!" Harry yelled, speeding us up. "Ginny's okay! We've got her!"

We heard Ron give a strangled cheer, and we turned the next bend to see his eager face staring through the sizable gap he had managed to make in the rock fall.

_"Ginny!"_ Ron thrust an arm through the gap in the rock to pull her through first. "You're alive! I don't believe it! What happened? How - what - where did that bird come from?"

Fawkes had swooped through the gap after Ginny.

"He's Dumbledore's," Harry said as I squeezed through myself, then helped Harry through.

"How come you've got a _sword_?" Ron asked, gaping at the glittering weapon in Harry's hand.

"We'll explain when we get out of here," Harry said with a sideways glance at both Ginny and myself. Ginny was crying harder than ever.

"But -"

"Later," I said shortly. I didn't think it was a good idea to tell Ron yet who'd been opening the Chamber, not in front of Ginny, anyway, "Where's Lockhart?"

"Back there," Ron said, still looking puzzled but jerking his head up the tunnel toward the pipe. "He's in a bad way. Come and see."

Led by Fawkes, whose wide scarlet wings emitted a soft golden glow in the darkness, we walked all the way back to the mouth of the pipe. Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting there, humming placidly to himself.

"His memory's gone," Ron said. "The Memory Charm backfired. Hit him instead of us. Hasn't got a clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are. I told him to come and wait here. He's a danger to himself."

Lockhart peered good-naturedly up at us all.

"Hello," he said. "Odd sort of place, this, isn't it? Do you live here?"

"No," Ron said, raising his eyebrows at Harry and I.

Harry bent down and looked up the long, dark pipe.

Have you thought how we're going to get back up this?" he asked Ron.

Ron shook his head, but Fawkes the phoenix had swooped past Harry and was now fluttering in front of him, his beady eyes bright in the dark. He was waving his long golden tail feathers. Harry and I looked uncertainly at him.

"He looks like he wants you to grab hold. . ." Ron said, looking perplexed. "But you're much too heavy for a bird to pull up there -"

"Fawkes," Harry said, "isn't an ordinary bird." He motioned to me and turned quickly to the others. "We've got to hold onto each other. Ginny, grab Ron's hand. Professor Lockhart -"

"He means you," Ron said sharply to Lockhart.

"You hold Ginny's other hand and Ron, you hold Chey's hand -"

Harry tucked the sword and the Sorting Hat into his belt and then wrapped his arm around my waist, holding me close as Ron took hold of the back of my robes. Then, Harry reached out and took hold of Fawkes' tail feathers.

An extraordinary lightness seemed to spread from Harry to myself, sweeping through my whole body and the next second, in a rush of wings, we were flying upward through the pipe. I could hear Lockhart dangling below us, saying, "Amazing! Amazing! This is just like magic!" The chill air was whipping through my hair, and before I'd stopped enjoying the ride, it was over - all five of us were hitting the wet floor of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and as Lockhart straightened his hat, the sink that hid the pipe was sliding back into place.

Myrtle goggled at us.

"You're alive," she said blankly to Harry.

"There's no need to sound so disappointed," he said grimly, letting go of me and wiping flecks of blood and slime off his glasses.

"Oh, well. . .I'd just been thinking. . .if _you_ had died, you'd have been welcome to share my toilet," Myrtle said, blushing silver. She glanced at me, her eyes hardening some as if daring me to ask where I could've lived if I'd died too.

"Urgh!" Ron said as we left the bathroom for the dark, deserted corridor outside. "Harry! I think Myrtle's grown _fond _of you! You've got competition, Ginny!"

But tears were still flooding silently down Ginny's face.

"Where now?" Ron said, with an anxious look at Ginny. Harry pointed.

Fawkes was leading the way, glowing gold along the corridor. We strode after him, and moments later, found ourselves outside Professor McGonagall's office.

Harry knocked and pushed the door open.


	18. Dobby's Reward

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Dobby's Reward**

For a moment there was silence as Harry, Ron, Ginny, Lockhart and I stood in the doorway, covered in muck and slime and (in my and Harry's case) blood. Then there was a scream.

_"Ginny!"_

It was Mrs. Weasley, who had been sitting crying in front of the fire. She leapt to her feet, closely followed by Mr. Weasley, and both of them flung themselves on their daughter.

Harry and I, however, were looking past them. Professor Dumbledore was standing by the mantelpiece, beaming, next to Professor McGonagall, who was taking great, steadying gasps, clutching her chest. Fawkes went whooshing past Harry's ear and settled on Dumbledore's shoulder, just as Harry and I found ourselves and Ron being swept into Mrs. Weasley's tight embrace.

"You saved her! You saved her! _How _ did you do it?"

"I think we'd all like to know that," Professor McGonagall said weakly.

Mrs. Weasley let go of Harry and I and we both hesitated for a moment, glancing at each other. Then Harry walked over to the desk and laid upon it the Sorting Hat, the ruby-encrusted sword, and what remained of Riddle's diary.

Then we started telling them everything, each of us taking turns. For nearly a quarter of an hour we spoke into the rapt silence: We told them about hearing the disembodied voice, how Hermione had finally realized that we were hearing a basilisk in the pipes; how we and Ron had followed the spiders into the forest, that Aragog had told us where the last victim of the basilisk had died; how we had guessed that Moaning Myrtle had been the victim, and that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets might be in her bathroom. . . .

"Very well," Professor McGonagall prompted us as we paused, "so you found out where the entrance was - breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add - but how on _earth_ did you all get out of there alive, Potter and Power?"

So Harry and I, both our voices now growing hoarse from all this talking, told them about Fawkes's timely arrival and about the Sorting Hat giving him the sword. But then we both faltered. We had so far avoided mentioning Riddle's diary - or Ginny. She was standing with her head against Mrs. Weasley's shoulder, and tears were still coursing silently down her cheeks. _What if they expelled her?_ Harry and I thought, glancing at each other once more, feeling panicked. Riddle's diary didn't work anymore. . . .How could we prove it had been _he _who'd made her do it all?

Instinctively, Harry and I looked at Dumbledore, who smiled faintly, the firelight glancing off his half-moon spectacles.

"What interests _me _most," Dumbledore said gently, "is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania."

Relief - warm, sweeping, glorious relief - swept over Harry and I.

"W-what's that?" Mr. Weasley said in a stunned voice. _"You-Know-Who? _En-enchant _Ginny? _But Ginny's not. . .Ginny hasn't been. . .has she?"

"It was this diary," Harry said quickly, picking it up and showing it to Dumbledore. "Riddle wrote it when he was sixteen. . . ."

Dumbledore took the diary from Harry and peered keenly down his long, crooked nose at its burnt and soggy pages.

"Brilliant," he said softly. "Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen." He turned around to the Weasleys, who were looking utterly bewildered.

"Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school. . .traveled far and wide. . .sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here."

"But, Ginny," Mrs. Weasley said. "What's our Ginny got to do with - with - _him_?"

"His d-diary!" Ginny sobbed. "I've b-been writing in it, and he's been w-writing back all year -"

_"Ginny!"_ Mr. Weasley said, flabbergasted. "Haven't I taught you _anything?_ What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself _if you can't see where it keeps its brain_? Why didn't you show the diary to me, or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was _clearly_ full of Dark Magic -"

"I d-didn't know," Ginny sobbed. "I found it inside one of the books Mum got me. I th-thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it -"

"Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away," Dumbledore interrupted in a firm voice. "This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort." He strode over to the door and opened it. "Bed rest and perhaps a large streaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up," he added, twinkling kindly down at her. "You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She's just giving out Mandrake juice - I daresay the basilisk's victims will be waking up any moment."

"So Hermione's okay!" Ron said brightly.

"There has been no lasting harm done, Ginny," Dumbledore said.

Mrs. Weasley led Ginny out, and Mr. Weasley followed, still looking deeply shaken.

"You know, Minerva," Professor Dumbledore said thoughtfully to Professor McGonagall, "I think all this merits a good _feast_. Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens?"

"Right," Professor McGonagall said crisply, also moving to the door. "I'll leave you to deal with Potter, Weasley and Power, shall I?"

"Certainly," Dumbledore said.

She left, and Harry, Ron and I gazed uncertainly at Dumbledore. What exactly had Professor McGonagall meant, _deal _with us? Surely - _surely_ - we weren't about to be punished?

"I seem to remember telling you boys that I would have to expel you if you broke any more school rules," Dumbledore said.

Ron opened his mouth in horror.

"Which goes to show that the best of us must sometimes eat our words," Dumbledore went on, smiling. "You three will receive Special Awards for Services to the School and - let me see - yes, I think one hundred and thirty-three points apiece for Gryffindor."

Ron went as brightly pink as Lockhart's valentine flowers and closed his mouth again.

"But one of us seems to be keeping mightily quiet about his part in this dangerous adventure," Dumbledore added. "Why so modest, Gilderoy?"

Harry and I both gave a start. We had completely forgotten about Lockhart. We turned and saw that Lockhart was standing in a corner of the room, still wearing his vague smile. When Dumbledore addressed him, Lockhart looked over his shoulder to see who he was talking to.

"Professor Dumbledore," Ron said quickly, "there was an accident down in the Chamber of Secrets. Professor Lockhart -"

"Am I a professor?" Lockhart said in mild surprise. "Goodness. I expect I was hopeless, was I?"

"He tried to do a Memory Charm and the wand backfired," I explained quietly to Dumbledore.

"Dear me," Dumbledore said, shaking his head, his long silver mustache quivering. "Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy!"

"Sword?" Lockhart said dimly. "Haven't got a sword. That couple has, though." He pointed to Harry and I. "They'll lend you one."

"Would you mind taking Professor Lockhart up to the infirmary, too?" Dumbledore said to Ron. "I'd like a few more words with Harry and Cheyenne. . . ."

Lockhart ambled out. Ron cast a curious look back at Dumbledore and Harry and I as he closed the door.

Dumbledore crossed to one of the chairs by the fire.

"Sit down, Harry, Cheyenne," he said, and Harry and I sat, feeling unaccountably nervous.

"First of all, Harry, Cheyenne, I want to thank you both," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling again. "You both must have shown me real loyalty down in the Chamber. Nothing but that could have called Fawkes to you both."

He stroked the phoenix, which had fluttered down onto his knee. Harry and I grinned awkwardly as Dumbledore watched us.

"And so you both met Tom Riddle," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "I imagine he was _most_ interested in you two. . . ."

Harry and I looked at each other, something that was nagging at us suddenly coming tumbling out of both our mouths.

"Professor Dumbledore. . .Riddle said we're like him. Strange likenesses, he said. . . ."

"_Did_ he, now?" Dumbledore said, looking thoughtfully at Harry and myself from under his thick silver eyebrows. "And what do you think, Harry, Cheyenne?"

"We. . ." Harry reached over and gently took my hand. I flipped mine over and squeezed his softly. "We don't think we're like him, really." We said together. "We're - We're in _Gryffindor_, we're. . . ."

But we fell silent, a lurking doubt resurfacing in our minds.

"Professor," we started again after a moment. "The Sorting Hat told us we'd - we'd have done well in Slytherin. Everyone thought _we _were Slytherin's heirs for a while. . .because we can speak Parseltongue. . . ."

"You both can speak Parseltongue, Harry and Cheyenne," Dumbledore said calmly, "because Lord Voldemort - who _is _the last remaining ancestor of Salazar Slytherin - can speak Parseltongue. Unless I'm much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you two the night he gave you both those scars. Not something he intended to do, I'm sure. . . ."

"Voldemort put a bit of himself in _us_?" Harry asked as I just sat, staring at Dumbledore, completely stunned.

"It certainly seems so."

"So we _should _be in Slytherin," I said slowly, looking desperately into Dumbledore's face. "The Sorting Hat could see Slytherin's power in us, and it -"

"Put you both in Gryffindor," Dumbledore said calmly. "Listen to me, Harry, Cheyenne. You both happen to have many qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand-picked students. His own very rare gift, Parseltongue - resourcefulness - determination - a certain disregard for rules," he added, his mustache quivering again. "Yet the Sorting Hat placed you both in Gryffindor. You both know why that was. Think."

"It only put us in Gryffindor," Harry said in a defeated voice.

"Because we asked not to go in Slytherin. . . ." I finished quietly.

_"Exactly," _ Dumbledore said, beaming once more. "Which makes you two _very different_ from Tom Riddle. It is our choices, Harry, Cheyenne, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities." Harry and I sat motionless in our chairs, stunned. "If you want proof, Harry, Cheyenne, that you two belong in Gryffindor, I suggest you look more closely at _this_."

Dumbledore reached across to Professor McGonagall's desk, picked up the blood-stained silver sword, and handed it to Harry. Dully, Harry took it and balanced it between us before turning it over, the rubies blazing in the firelight. And then we saw the name engraved just below the hilt.

_Godric Gryffindor._

"Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled _that_ out of the hat, Harry," Dumbledore said simply before looking at me, "And only a true Gryffindor would be able to _sense_ it, too." He said, smiling.

For a minute, none of us spoke. Then Dumbledore pulled open one of the drawers in Professor McGonagall's desk and took out a quill and a bottle of ink.

"What you both need, Harry, Cheyenne, is some food and sleep each. I suggest you two go down to the feast, whie I write to Azkaban - we need our gamekeeper back. And I must draft an advertisement for the _Daily Prophet_, too," he added thoughtfully. "We'll be needing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. . . .Dear me, we do seem to run through them, don't we?"

Harry and I got up together and crossed to the door. He had just reached for the handle, however, when the door burst open so violently that it bounced back off the wall.

Lucius Malfoy stood there, fury on his face. And cowering behind his legs, heavily wrapped in bandages, was _Dobby._

"Good evening, Lucius," Dumbledore said pleasantly.

Mr. Malfoy almost knocked Harry and I over as he swept into the room. Dobby went scurrying in after him, crouching at the hem of his cloak, a look of abject terror on his face.

The elf was carrying a stained rag with which he was attempting to finish cleaning Mr. Malfoy's shoes. Apparently Mr. Malfoy had set out in a great hurry, for not only were his shoes half-polished, but his usually sleek hair was disheveled. Ignoring the elf bobbing apologetically around his ankles, he fixed his cold eyes upon Dumbledore.

"So!" he said, "You've come back. The governors suspended you but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts."

"Well, you see, Lucius," Dumbledore said, smiling serenely, "the other eleven governors contacted me today. It was something like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell the truth. They'd heard that Arthur Weasley's daughter had been killed and wanted me back here at once. They seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all. Very strange tales they told me, too. . . .Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn't agree to suspend me in the first place."

Mr. Malfoy went even paler than usual, but his eyes were still slits of fury.

"So - have you stopped the attacks yet?" he sneered. "Have you caught the culprit?"

"We have," Dumbledore said, with a smile.

_"Well?" _ Mr. Malfoy asked sharply. "Who is it?"

"The same person as last time, Lucius," Dumbledore said. "But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else. By means of this diary."

He held up the small black book with the large hole through the center, watching Mr. Malfoy closely. Harry and I, however, were watching Dobby.

The elf was doing something very odd. His great eyes fixed meaningfully on Harry and myself, he kept pointing at the diary, then at Mr. Malfoy, and then hitting himself hard on the head with his fist.

"I see. . ." Mr. Malfoy said slowly to Dumbledore.

"A clever plan," Dumledore said in a level voice, still staring Mr. Malfoy straight in the eye. "Because if Harry and Cheyenne here -" Mr. Malfoy shot Harry and I a swift, sharp look - "and their friend Ron hadn't discovered this book, why - Ginny Weasley might have taken all the blame. No one would ever had been able to prove she hadn't acted of her own free will. . . ."

Mr. Malfoy said nothing. His face was suddenly masklike.

"And imagine," Dumbledore went on, "what might have happened then. . . .The Weasleys are one of our most prominent pure-blood families. Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley and his Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and killing Muggle-borns. . . .Very fortunate the diary was discovered, and Riddle's memories wiped from it. Who knows what the consequences might have been otherwise. . . ."

Mr. Malfoy forced himself to speak.

"Very fortunate," He said stiffly.

And still, behind his back, Dobby was pointing, first to the diary, then to Lucius Malfoy, then punching himself in the head.

I suddenly understood and whispered quickly to Harry. We nodded at Dobby, and Dobby backed into a corner, now twisting his ears in punishment.

"Don't you want to know how Ginny got hold of that diary, Mr. Malfoy?" Harry and I asked.

Lucius Malfoy rounded on us.

"How should I know how the stupid little girl got hold of it?" he said.

"Ah, we never said you _knew_ how Ginny got it, we just asked if you _wanted _to know," I said, smirking. Mr. Malfoy narrowed his eyes.

"It's because you gave it to her," Harry cut in. "In Flourish and Blotts. You picked up her old Transfiguration boo and slipped the diary inside it, didn't you?"

We saw Mr. Malfoy's white hands clench and unclench.

"Prove it," he hissed.

"Oh, no one will be able to do that," Dumbledore said, smiling at us. "Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book. On the other hand, I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort's old school things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you. . . ."

Lucius Malfoy stood for a moment, and Harry and I distinctly saw his right hand twitch as though he was longing to reach for his wand. Instead, he turned to his house-elf.

"We're going, Dobby!"

He wrenched open the door and as the elf came hurrying up to him, he kicked him right through it. I wanted to lunge after him, but Harry held me back. We could hear Dobby squealing with pain all the way along the corridor. Harry and I stood for a moment, looking at each other, thinking hard. Then it came to us -

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry said hurriedly."Can we give that diary _back _to Mr. Malfoy, please?" I said quickly.

"Certainly, Harry, Cheyenne," Dumbledore said calmly. "But hurry. The feast, remember. . . ."

Harry grabbed the diary and we dashed out of the office. We could hear Dobby's squeals of pain receding around the corner. Quickly, wondering if this plan could possibly work, Harry and I each took off one of our shoes, pulled off our slimy, filthy socks, and stuff the diary into his, then stuff that one into mine. Then we ran down the dark corridor.

We caught up with them at the top of the stairs.

"Mr. Malfoy," we gasped, skidding to a halt, "we've got something for you -"

And Harry forced the smelly socks into Lucius Malfoy's hand.

"What the -?"

Mr. Malfoy ripped the socks off the diary, threw them aside, then looked furiously from the ruined book to Harry and myself.

"You'll both meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power," he said softly. "They were all meddlesome fools, too."

He turned to go.

"Come, Dobby, I said, _come_."

But Dobby didn't move. He was holding up both my and Harry's disgusting, slimy socks, and looking at them as though they were priceless treasure.

"Master has given a sock. . ._two_ socks," the elf said in wonderment. "Master gave them to Dobby."

"What's that?" Mr. Malfoy spat. "What did you say?"

"Got socks," Dobby said in disbelief. "Master threw them, and Dobby caught them both, and Dobby - Dobby is _free_."

Lucius Malfoy stood frozen, staring at the elf. Then he lunged at Harry and I.

"You've both lost me my servant!"

But Dobby shouted, "You shall not harm Harry Potter or Cheyenne Power!"

There was a loud bang, and Mr. Malfoy was thrown backward. He crashed down the stairs, three at a time, landing in a crumpled heap on the landing below. He got up, his face livis, and pulled out his wand, but Dobby raised a long, threatening finger.

"You shall go now," he said fiercely, pointing down at Mr. Malfoy. "You shall not touch either Harry Potter or Cheyenne Power. You shall go now."

Lucius Malfoy had no choice. With a last, incensed stare at the three of us, he swung his clock around him and hurried out of sight.

"Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power freed Dobby!" the elf said shrilly, gazing up at Harry and I, moonlight from the nearest window reflected in his orb-like eyes. "Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power set Dobby free!"

"Least we could do, Dobby," Harry said, grinning as I stooped down and rubbed the top of the head. "Just promise never to try and save our lives again."

The elf's ugly brown face split suddenly into a wide, toothy smile.

"We've just got one question, Dobby," Harry said as I stood and we watched Dobby pull our socks on with shaking hands. "You told us all this had nothing to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, remember? Well -"

"It was a clue, sir," Dobby said, his eyes widening, as though this was obvious. "Was giving you both a clue. The Dark Lord, before he changed his name, could be freely named, you see?"

"Right. . ." Harry and I said weakly. "Well, we'd better go. There's a feast, and our friend Hermione should be awake by now. . . ."

Dobby threw his arms first around Harry's middle, then mine and hugged us.

"Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power are greater by far than Dobby knew!" he sobbed. "Farewell, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power!"

And with a final loud crack, Dobby disappeared.

Harry and I had been to several Hogwarts feasts, but never one quite like this. Everybody was in their pajamas, and the celebration lasted all night. Neither of us knew whether the best bit was Hermione running toward us, screaming, "You solved it! You solved it!" or Justin hurrying over from the Hufflepuff table to wring both our hands and apologize endlessly for suspecting us, or Hagrid turning up at half past three, cuffing Harry, Ron and I so hard on the shoulders that we were knocked into our plates of trifle, or my, Harry and Ron's four hundred points for Gryffindor securing the House Cup for the second year running, or Professor McGonagall standing up to tell us all that the exams had been canceled as a school treat ("Oh, _no!_" Hermione said), or Dumbledore announcing that, unfortunately, Professor Lockhart would be unable to return next year, owing to the face that he needed to go away and get his memory back. Quite a few of the teachers joined in the cheering that greeted this news.

"Shame," Ron said, helping himself to a jam doughnut. "He was starting to grow on me."

The rest of the final term passed in a haze of blazing sunshine. Hogwarts was back to normal with only a few, small differences - Defense Against the Dart Arts classes were canceled ("but we've had plenty of practice at that anyway," Ron told a disgruntled Hermione) and Lucius Malfoy had been sacked as a school governor. Draco was no longer strutting around the school as though he owned the place. On the contrary, he looked resentful and sulky. On the other hand, Ginny Weasley was perfectly happy again.

Too soon, it was time for the journey home on the Hogwarts Express. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Ginny and I got a compartment to ourselves. We made the most of the last few hours in which we were allowed to do magic before the holidays. We played Exploding Snap, set off the very last of Fred and George's Filibuster fireworks, and practiced disarming each other by magic. Harry was getting better, but I was still boardline okay.

We were almost at King's Cross when Harry remembered something.

"Ginny - what did you see Percy doing, that he didn't want you to tell anyone?"

"Oh, that," Ginny said, giggling. "Well - Percy's got a _girlfriend_."

Fred dropped a stack of books on George's head.

_"What?"_

"It's that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater," Ginny said, "That's who he was writing to all last summer. He's been meeting her all over the school in secret. I walked in on them _kissing _in an empty classroom one day. He was so upset when she was - you know - attacked. You won't tease him, will you?" she added anxiously.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Fred said, looking like his birthday had come early.

"Definitely not," George said, sniggering.

The Hogwarts Express slowed and finally stopped.

Harry pulled out his quill and a bit of parchment and turned to Ron and Hermione.

"This is called a telephone number," he told Ron, scribbling it twice, tearing the parchment in two, and handing it to them. "We told your dad how to use a telephone last summer - he'll know. Call us at the Dursleys', okay? Chey and I can't stand another two months with only Dudley to talk to. . . ."

"Your aunt and uncle will be proud, though, won't they?" Hermione said as we got off the train and joined the crowd thronging toward the enchanted barrier. "When they hear what you two did this year?"

"Proud?" Harry and I said. "Are you crazy? All those times we could've died, and we didn't manage it? They'll be furious. . . ."

And together we walked back through the gateway to the Muggle world.


End file.
